the fabulously vintage world of holly potter
by stanzaic
Summary: Holly Potter, having been raised to be a proper lady, just wants to learn piano and read classic novels. Unfortunately with one oddly heavy letter and some green ink, her life begins to spiral out of control; but Holly intends to take it right back. Fem!Harry. No pairings decided.
1. how to be a lady

**a/n;** Welcome, welcome to this intense project of mine. It is quite long already; I hope you hang on with me for the rest of the ride. I hope I hang on myself! Discovering Harry Potter genderswap fanfics and reading several of them—along with wondering about a variety of wizarding world questions—inspired me to write this. I hope I can answer the questions I've thought up accurately.

As stated in the summary, I have no clue what pairings I'll have. We'll find out, I suppose. OCs will be a big part of this story. This story will also be incredibly long. That's about all I have for now; read and enjoy! Constructive criticism, of course, is always welcome! Ah—and if anyone's done something like name a Harry Potter genderswap Holly or have her interested in manners, I'm sorry, I don't intend to copy!

**disclaimer;** I don't own _Harry Potter_!

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**the fabulously vintage world of holly potter**

_April 2014_

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_part one: a philosopher's absurd invention_

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—_first: how to be a lady; also entitled the reptile house incident_

Privet Drive was a bright suburban street. There were splashes of flowers sprouting on windowsills and in beds by the windows. The lawns were lightly green and lightly brown-yellow; most neighbors tried to compete even in the drought for the best-looking lawn.

No. 4, Privet Drive, is the most critical for our story, although an interesting story could also be found in House No. 16. However, House No. 16 will never be brought up again and should be forgotten henceforth. No. 4 was a neat little house. In the small backyard there was a lovely little garden and a dry birdbath; in front of the house there was the usual car in the drive, alongside the slightly-greener-than-the-neighbor's lawn.

Inside was just as neatly put together. The walls were mostly floral print or yellow; all the color schemes were perfectly matched. The matriarch of the house tried very hard to make everything look well-done, even if the people in the house felt stressed or frazzled. Appearances were very important.

The matriarch of the house was Petunia Dursley, nee Evans. She was tall, thin, bony, and brunette, and she was a proper lady. She kept well-read copies of classic hardcover novels on the coffee tables and wore lovely skirts and only gossiped about the neighbors when in secret confidence. She stayed at home and raised the two children of the house, both of whom will be explained in two or three paragraphs.

The patriarch of the house was Vernon Dursley. He went out to work every day and made drills with an engineering company; he was a manager, and in his opinion, he took good care of his employees. He had only very recently become a manager and remembered very distinctly what the old manager was like. He was larger than Petunia, rather a beefy man; however if one cared to look you could see the handsome young man he used to be. He tried to be a gentleman but he much preferred being himself.

Now, it must be taken into consideration that of the two children in the house, Dudley Dursley was very much Vernon's son, and Holly Potter was very much neither Petunia's daughter nor Vernon's. However she was closest to Petunia.

Dudley was a robust and healthy boy who ate too many sweets and never learned that sharing is caring. He could be sufferable on most occasions, although he tended to talk too much of things only he cared about, and when angered he struck out at the nearest person with no qualms. He did, however, love bonding experiences with his father, which meant he enjoyed going fishing and mowing the lawn. He also loved video games and old sci-fi movies, none of which anyone else particularly cared for.

Holly had been unceremoniously dropped on Petunia and Vernon's doorstep when she was a baby, with only a letter from a presumptuous old man to justify it. She had long light red hair, hazel eyes, and creamy pale skin, very opposite from her dark-haired and vaguely tan cousin. She was athletic and healthy, and she loved everything Petunia concerned herself with: she was raised to be a proper lady as well. She only wanted old-fashioned and vintage things for her birthdays, if anything at all, and she was always unerringly charmingly polite to everyone she met. If angered she would remain polite but also sound frosty about it.

Holly was the daughter of Petunia's deceased sister Lily, and Holly looked very much like her mother. This was the majority of the reasoning behind Petunia's affection for the girl. Although Petunia had never gotten along with her sister when they were younger, now Lily was dead; and Holly felt very much like a second chance. Vernon did not like Holly nearly as much and tended to think of her as a freeloader, but it was hard to dislike her when all she did was read quietly and clean when asked to without complaint.

However, Holly always seemed to be involved in some very strange events. Although Dudley managed to start trouble on the playground at school on occasion, that was only to be expected, especially since his temper flared so easily. Holly was a charming and intelligent girl who avoided trouble—except on notable occasions. Once she was found the only one in the room with a particularly disagreeable teacher, whose beloved hair had turned a violent shade of blue. Another time, when on the run from a vicious but well-loved Rottweiler, the poor dog disappeared, and was later discovered two streets over, looking quite confused.

There were other incidents of similar bizarre manner. This could only mean one thing: but Petunia and Vernon both refused to consider the possibility. It was all coincidental, of course; that was what was happening. Not that other thing.

Our heroine, Holly Potter of the charming qualities and strange circumstances, presently slept in her bedroom, the second one upstairs. It was wallpapered with a blue-and-cream floral pattern. It was very neatly put-together; the messiest part was the desk, with piano notes spread out on it and a pencil still lying out. There was a crucifix on the wall directly across from the bed, and Holly was asleep under a quilted patchwork blanket. Her wardrobe door was closed, but inside there were mostly clothes she and Petunia had picked out together. She had a hat rack beside the wardrobe. On it there were her three favorite straw hats.

Holly was dreaming about a flying motorcycle. Because it was a dream this did not strike her as odd. Instead she laughed and tried to take control of it; she had no idea who else was on the motorbike, but she didn't care. She was flying over the English Channel in the direction of Paris because she would really like to eat several chocolate éclairs.

Just as Holly and the other motorbike passenger landed on a cobblestone street in Paris, a rapid knocking on the bedroom door woke her up. "Holly!" Petunia called through the door. "Come downstairs, Dudley wants to open his presents!"

"Be there in a moment," Holly called back. She quickly struggled to climb out of bed and stumbled over to her wardrobe. She remembered that Dudley wanted to go to the zoo for his birthday—which was today—and she picked something she thought would be appropriate. She fixed her hair with the assistance of her tall mirror on the back of her door, and then made her bed before heading downstairs.

Dudley had another smattering of gifts this year. They were all settled in front of the fireplace on the living room floor. Dudley was shaking one present in particular and holding it to his ear when Holly entered the room. "Happy birthday, Dudley," said Holly in passing, already on her way to the kitchen.

"Shut up, I'm trying to listen," was Dudley's response. This was no surprise; Dudley was always astonishingly rude.

Vernon was sitting at the head of the kitchen table, observing Dudley's proceedings with a small smile. He had the newspaper set in front of him, currently unopened. "Hello, Holly," said Vernon to his niece. He looked over to eye her somewhat suspiciously. "You're going with us to the zoo today, are you?"

"May I?" Holly asked.

Vernon looked like he might want to say no.

"Please?" Holly added hopefully. She loved animals of all kinds—more than once she'd had to come to Dudley's rescue, scooping up a spider and setting him outside while Dudley jumped on the bed and shrieked.

"Well, all right," said Vernon. "But no funny business. It's Dudley's special day."

"Yes, sir," Holly said respectfully. She flashed Vernon a smile and fairly skipped into the kitchen, where Petunia was making quick work of breakfast. Petunia set her on the bacon and scurried about, trying to make sure everything was perfect for Dudley.

Holly never received such attention on her own birthday, but she'd learned not to mind. In her own opinion she was lucky to receive any attention at all. She knew that, for whatever reason, her own parents had been on bad terms with the Dursleys. It was mostly, she thought, due to Petunia's obsession with being a proper lady that had kept Holly around long enough to grow up with the same ideals.

When they all sat down to breakfast—well, Dudley sat and ate on the living room floor, and Petunia watched him in grim apprehension—Dudley started counting his presents. "There's only thirty-four," said Dudley, looking up at his parents and Holly at the kitchen table. "I had thirty-six last year."

Holly wasn't surprised he remembered the exact number. When Dudley decided things were important to him, they were very important. "Well, you haven't counted Aunt Marge's present—she said it'd be arriving soon," said Vernon calmly.

"That's still one less," Dudley reported.

They all studied each other for a moment. Dudley was starting to look somewhat upset. Holly wanted to offer him a switch; he could have her total number of presents from last year's birthday, which was four, and two of them had come from her friends from school. The longer the moment of silence went on, the happier Holly was. She rather thought someone ought to teach Dudley the meaning of the word abstinence. (She'd just learned it herself. She almost exclusively read classic novels.)

Then Petunia said, "We can buy you another one while we're out today, popkins." She smiled at Dudley, who nodded seriously back before returning to eating.

At least Dudley cheered up as much as he ever did on the way to the zoo. Holly watched the other cars pass by and wondered about the people in them while Dudley chattered away with his irritating, weedy little friend Piers Polkiss. In the driver's seat Vernon muttered about motorcycles cutting him off. Petunia barely managed to change the subject to her friend Yvonne vacationing in Majorca instead.

Piers turned to Holly. "Hi, Holly," he said, smiling at her with his misaligned teeth. "What do you want to see at the zoo?"

"Everything," said Holly, looking back out the window.

"She's boring," Dudley accused. Holly assumed Piers agreed, because in a moment they were talking about howling monkeys again.

The zoo was jam-packed full of people. _Like sardines,_ Holly thought. There was a group with a lot of little kids running around, and a few with angry-looking teenagers. Holly smiled, though, when she caught sight of an elderly couple sitting together by the elephants.

Outside the entrance—before Holly caught sight of all those people and wondered about their stories—Vernon bought Dudley and Piers ice creams. Holly was too invested in looking around to bother to ask for one; she considered herself somewhat lucky to have been allowed along at all. Vernon was still rather upset about those motorcycles.

The ice cream lady, though, looked directly at Holly and asked what she wanted, before they could all walk away. Holly glanced at her uncle, who shrugged half-heartedly. A moment later Holly happily walked away with a vanilla ice cream in hand.

It was a hot, sunny summer day, and Holly was glad for the hat she'd put on today. The shade of the reptile house was still a welcome change—as was the air conditioning inside. Holly headed off on her own to check out the garden snakes, as she considered them rather adorable. The only animals she didn't really like all that much were boa constrictors and anacondas; it probably had to do with the nightmare she'd once had of one wrapping around her and squeezing her to death. She also associated them with the Fall of Man story she'd heard many a time in church on Sunday mornings.

Holly had stared at several green snakes for a while when she finally moved on to the larger cages. Dudley had his face pressed against one of the largest cages. Piers was standing beside him, one hand on his hip. "It won't do anything," Piers was complaining as Holly wandered into earshot.

"Make it move," Dudley whined at nobody in particular.

Piers rapped on the glass of the cage. Neither boy jumped up, so Holly decided the snake must have been sleeping. "Boring," Piers decided, moving on. Dudley walked off with him, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Holly took a few steps closer to peer inside, her hands clasped behind her back. She read the informational plate beside the exhibit first. Naturally Dudley and Piers had sought out the biggest, nastiest snake in the place: it was a boa constrictor, apparently from Brazil. Holly thought that at least the Brazil part seemed interesting.

She looked into the exhibit and saw the snake immediately. It was massive, with oodles and oodles of brown curls. It was also staring right at her with startlingly golden eyes. It flicked its forked tongue out.

"Hello," Holly said slowly to the glass.

The snake seemed to study her. Then it winked.

Holly stared at it. She considered the possibility that she had imagined it. Then she looked around for a second to make sure nobody was looking before winking back, just in case.

The snake pointed at Dudley and Piers, several paces away now with Petunia and Vernon trailing behind them, with its head. Then it raised its head to the ceiling. Holly wondered what on Earth it was trying to say. The likeliest idea was that it was complaining about her cousin; most people did.

"I know," Holly muttered. "He's really very irritating." She twisted her lips. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

It was a positively absurd idea that the snake could tell anyone anything, but Holly didn't mind. Then it occurred to her that this was probably what had happened with Eve in the Garden of Eden. She imagined she was not nearly as important as the first woman in the world, but she was still wary of overly animated snakes. Holly took a small step back. "Have a nice day," she told the snake.

That was when Dudley made his smashing return. "What'd you do?" Dudley demanded, rushing up and cramming his face into the glass. He knocked into Holly's shoulder along the way, making it throb painfully for a moment. "It's moving! Piers, look! Dad!"

Holly rolled her eyes. She started to take another step back, reaching up to rub her shoulder. Dudley was staring at the snake and positively salivating. Holly frowned at him, annoyed; in the next moment, Piers was joining her cousin, and they were both jeering at the poor animal inside the cage.

Quite suddenly they both jumped backward. Holly did too, out of surprise at their abrupt movements. The glass on the front of the cage seemed to have completely vanished. Holly wondered wildly if it was retractable—but there was no place along the bottom of the cage for the glass to retract into.

The massive snake began to slither right out of the cage. Holly yelped and scrambled up onto the windowsill of the nearest cage behind her, while Piers and Dudley screamed. Several other people caught sight of the snake and began to shriek as well. The snake slithered right by—and then, alarmingly close, it looked _right at Holly_ and hissed, "Thankssss, amigo…"

Holly stared as it slid onward toward the exit. Ridiculously, the only thing she could think was _How absurd_.

The rest of Holly's day was very unlike the start. Dudley's birthday was positively ruined by this life-changing and, evidently, life-threatening experience with the Brazilian boa constrictor. He whined the entire ride home, and Piers just sat there in silent shock. Petunia was clearly upset, wringing her hands together. And Vernon was so furious that he said nothing at all, which was as scary as Uncle Vernon ever got.

After they dropped Piers off at his house, Vernon asked, "What happened, Holly?" His voice was quiet and lethal.

Holly knew these were the critical moments. "Dudley and Piers were looking at the snake, and I think the glass broke," she offered, with a confused little twist to her voice. "Do you think they caught the snake?"

"Are you sure that's what happened?" Vernon demanded, his voice rising. "I told you this morning no funny business!"

"It wasn't very funny," Holly pointed out. "That was dangerous. It could have killed someone."

"That's _the point!_" Vernon shouted.

Holly was grounded for the remainder of the week.


	2. an invitation extended

**a/n; **Thank you all so very much for the follows, favorites, and review! :) I hope you all like this new chapter!

**disclaimer; **Sadly, I do not own the phenomenon that is _Harry Potter_.

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**the fabulously vintage world of holly potter**

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—_second: an invitation extended_

Nearer to Holly's birthday in July an odd letter arrived. Her life had settled back into its regular routine, and she had mentally categorized the event with the snake with the other odd occurrences of her life. She thought sometimes that she ought to live in a weird television program where things like that happened to the main characters.

Holly was excited for the end of the summer. She loved learning history in school and seeing all her friends there. Unfortunately she wasn't going to be able to see _all_ her friends at school—because she was being sent to St. Michael's, a different private secondary school than a few of her friends were going to. But Jenna and Melanie would be there, and they had been Holly's closest friends anyway.

Not only that—Holly would be far, far away from Dudley and his gang. That lot was the most thickheaded, irritating bunch that Holly had ever had the misfortune to meet. Holly already saw most of them around the house in the summer; she had to escape outside if she wanted any peace.

Dudley would be attending Smeltings, a school with a gray uniform and strict codes. Holly thought it would be good for her cousin. He needed some rules in his life. It was also unfortunate because for some reason or another a walking stick was part of the uniform. When angered Dudley liked to smack Holly in the arm with it. Unlike a true gentleman, Dudley had no qualms about hitting a female.

Holly was seated at the kitchen table, minding her own business reading a book, when the mail slot clicked open loudly in the front hall. She heard letters slap to the floor. Holly glanced up, already sliding her favorite bookmark into place. Vernon was seated at the head of the table perusing the paper before going to work. Dudley was in another room, probably playing a video game by the sounds of it. Petunia was on the phone with her friend Yvonne in the living room.

"Go get the mail, Holly," said Vernon dismissively.

"Yes, sir," said Holly, hopping to her feet. She walked down the front hall and paused to pick up the letters. She flipped through them—there were some bills and a letter from Piers, who was on vacation. The most interesting letter, though, was addressed to her.

Holly would have thought it was from her friend Allison, who was on vacation. But it wasn't from anyone Holly knew. She set down the other letters on a coffee table in the front hall before using her nail to carefully open her letter. It was addressed to

_Ms. H. Potter_

_The Second Bedroom_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The envelope was heavy, which was odd in itself. Holly slid the contents of the letter out of the envelope. The paper felt rough and strange, more old-fashioned than anything. "Holly?" she heard Vernon call from the kitchen table.

"A moment, please," Holly replied.

She read the letter:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Holly read the later twice more. It seemed to be making less and less sense rather than more. Before her uncle could shout for her again, Holly quickly refolded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope. She then proceeded to fold it neatly and put it into her hat. She wanted some time to mull over this development before showing it to anyone else.

Vernon was annoyed with his bills, but Dudley was delighted with his letter from Piers. Holly wanted to remark that she was surprised the boy knew how to write, but she thought it would be unbearably rude and kept it to herself. She excused herself shortly after to go to her room; she wanted to think about this Hogwarts letter.

Her first idea was that it was a scam. There were all sorts nowadays trying to make a pound, Vernon always said. It was very strange, though, that they had labeled this letter to precisely the correct address—including the correct bedroom.

The second idea was that Holly was, in fact, being spied on, and there was anthrax in this letter and she would soon develop the first stages of the disease. However, even several days after she received the letter, she did not have anthrax, so she had to rule out that idea as well.

The final idea was the most absurd of all: that this letter was truly an acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Holly had never applied. She highly doubted her aunt or uncle had sent in an application for her; they were both quite happy with her upcoming attendance at St. Michael's. Holly came to the conclusion that she needed more information, and she sat down to write a letter in response:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Thank you for your invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before I make my decision I would like to know where I can find more information about Hogwarts. May I inquire how many students attend? Where is this school? What is its reputation? Are there competing wizarding schools in the United Kingdom?_

_Thank you for your time,_

_Ms. Holly Potter_

She had no idea where to send the letter, which was a problem. Holly could only hope that stamped and slipped in with the regular mail someone would be able to find it.

Now the entire thing was beginning to feel even more ridiculous. Holly couldn't be sure whether she hoped to attend St. Michael's or this mysterious Hogwarts. St. Michael's was where Jenna and Melanie would be; however, Hogwarts meant that Holly was somebody. In fact, she was a witch.

Normally Holly would have been quite insulted at the very idea. But being a witch clearly meant being able to attend Hogwarts. At first it sounded rather stupid, but the more Holly thought about it, it began to sound prestigious. It was rather suspicious that Holly had never heard of it before—but she had never even known wizards and witches were _real_ before. How could she have heard about a school for them?

It explained all of those odd incidents as well. Holly must have subconsciously wanted to achieve revenge against Dudley and Piers by releasing that boa constrictor in the zoo. She knew she had wanted to upset that old teacher of hers. And she had definitely wanted to escape from that angry dog.

Were her parents wizards? Holly had no idea. She was afraid to ask.

Two days after she sent her letter, she received a reply in the strangest possible way. Holly had been lying on her bed with her nose in a book. Quite suddenly she heard a tapping on her window. Holly would have thought it was a wayward bee if the tapping had not been so hard and loud, like knocking.

Holly twisted around and found an owl perched on the windowsill outside, in broad daylight. She stared, and rubbed her eyes, and kept staring.

She cautiously approached the window, leaving her book forgotten on her bed, and carefully pushed it open. She saw that the tawny owl had what looked like a letter attached to its leg. Holly swallowed. "Please do not attack me, Mr. Owl," Holly murmured as she went about untying the letter from its leg.

Once released from the letter, the owl pecked at her hand. "Hey!" Holly squeaked in dismay. She frowned at the owl; it blinked back, with round amber marble eyes.

Holly sat down a safe distance away, at her desk, her back to the owl. She opened the reply letter; it was addressed to the same place. Holly suddenly realized that this is what the original letter must have meant by owling a reply. She wondered how on Earth these wizarding people came to assume she owned an owl. Were they not in short supply in the daytime?

The response read:

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_Thank you for your interest! I will give you more information about Hogwarts now. There are about six hundred students in all, and about seventy or more students in each year. There are seven years at Hogwarts, with two years of important wizarding examinations: OWLs in your fifth year, and NEWTs in your seventh. They will prepare you for a career outside your education at Hogwarts._

_Hogwarts is located in Scotland. I would rather not write its exact location, as I doubt your relatives know much of magic; we prefer to keep Muggles in the dark that way. It is reputed to be the safest wizarding school in the world, and it will teach you all you must know in order to make a successful life for yourself. There are no competing schools in the United Kingdom; however there are other schools in other countries, such as Beauxbatons in France._

_I hope to hear that you wish to attend. Please respond with your decision._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Holly surprised herself by wanting to go.

She started to reach for a pen; then she realized that she had to ask her aunt and uncle. How foolish of her, really, to think she could set this up all on her own. Holly glanced back at the owl, still sitting, waiting, on the windowsill. "I'll write a reply soon," Holly promised the owl. "Just fly around for a bit and come back in a few hours, okay?"

The owl hooted at her, as if irritable, before turning and flying away. Holly stared at the empty space it had just occupied for a moment, still rather astonished at all this mess. Finally she stood and straightened her sundress. Then she headed downstairs to see what she could make of this.

Petunia was making dinner already, and Vernon was settling into an armchair in the living room, having only recently gotten home from work. Dudley was watching the television set with rapt attention. Holly could hear laser sounds from it; she guessed it was another one of his sci-fi movies. He had been on an apocalypse kick lately, obsessed with making up an imaginary team of people he wanted with him when the apocalypse happened.

Holly was unsure how to begin. She entered the room cautiously and cleared her throat. She immediately regretted it; it was always best to start out with a confident step. "I have an announcement," she decided to say.

"Shut up," snapped Dudley.

"What is it?" groaned Vernon.

"Yes, dear?" asked Petunia.

"I've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I'd like to go."

For a second there was a stunned silence. Holly looked around at everyone. Dudley wasn't paying any attention: but Vernon was staring at her, his face whitening. Petunia dropped a glass and it shattered.

Holly immediately walked over to help her aunt clean up the mess. Vernon rose from the chair in the living room and took a seat, loudly, in a chair at the kitchen table. Petunia's face was as white as her husband's and her hands were shaking. "Are you all right?" Holly asked cautiously, as she helped Petunia pluck the large shards of glass off the floor.

"No," Petunia answered faintly. "I—I need a moment." She straightened up and wandered over to sit down at the kitchen table as well, putting the back of her hand to her forehead.

Holly decided there was a history here, and it was a bad one. She threw away the glass and swept up the floor before reentering the living room. Vernon's face was beginning to flush now and he was fanning himself. Petunia had her head in her hands.

Dudley was watching them with the same rapt attention he'd been studying the television set with earlier. Apparently his family was now far more interesting than the film. "What?" Dudley asked. "What is it?"

"I hoped this wouldn't happen," Petunia said into her hands.

Vernon let out an annoyed grunt. "I told you it would! She's related to your barmy sister—even looks just like—"

"She wasn't _barmy_," Petunia retorted, lifting her head. She and Vernon were looking at each other now, completely ignoring Dudley and Holly. "She was—and he was—a different—I don't know, Vernon!"

"She even wants to go to the bloody school!"

"I asked for more information first," said Holly. "It's the best wizarding school in the United Kingdom." It was also the only wizarding school, but Holly felt that information was best saved for later.

"She'll be out of the house ten months of the year," said Petunia. Holly's head snapped toward her; she felt a little as though she'd been slapped. She'd known she wasn't on the best of terms with Vernon or Dudley, but she'd thought—in fact, she didn't even know what she'd thought.

_How childish of me,_ Holly thought, schooling her expression into casual interest. A lady would not get emotional at the kitchen table when a big decision needed to be made.

"But she'll be one of _them_ when she's here for the two months!" Vernon snapped back.

From what Holly had gathered thus far, her parents had been wizards, and the Dursleys were utterly prejudiced against them. Holly wondered what the wizards had done to deserve such hatred. "May I say something, please?" Holly asked as politely as she could currently manage.

"Hush, child," said Petunia, waving her hand at Holly.

"I'd like to say something," Holly insisted.

"Fine," Vernon said. "What is it?"

"I would like to go to this school," said Holly. "In fact, I'd love to go. I would travel abroad and get new experiences, firstly, and I would meet all sorts of interesting people I could network with." She had picked up this idea from Vernon himself, who lauded networking because it had worked out well for him. "I might also do different things, but I'd still be myself. I can act just like any of you during the two months I would be home. I can lie and pretend I'm attending a prestigious academy in the States. I can even sit in my room. Or I can go on vacation with Jenna or Melanie."

Holly paused to check her audience's responses. Vernon still looked ruffled, but fortunately less so. Petunia looked, to Holly's surprise, like she might very well burst into tears. Holly didn't bother to glance toward Dudley. "So please," Holly asked, clasping her hands together, "may I enroll at Hogwarts?"

"Who runs this ruddy school?" Vernon demanded.

"A headmaster named Albus Dumbledore," said Petunia, before Holly could say anything. Holly swallowed her response, glancing at her aunt. Petunia looked exhausted and older than she'd ever looked. "Best in the country."

Vernon squinted at his wife and then at Holly. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind. Dudley, seated on the living room floor and gaping at all of them, exclaimed: "Yes! Ship her off!"

"How will you keep up your piano?" Vernon asked Holly. "Or ballet?"

"I can practice there," Holly replied. "I'm sure there will be other people who need to practice as well."

Vernon studied her for a moment. "We'll have to set some rules," he finally said, after a long moment. "No funny business in front of the neighbors. Don't come back thinking you can run the house. And don't, whatever you do, for Pete's sake, run around telling people all about what you've been doing!"

"And no magic," said Petunia. Vernon seemed to shudder at the very word.

"Agreed," Holly said immediately. She wanted to ask if this meant she was allowed to go to Hogwarts, but she didn't want to interrupt the proceedings again. She carefully looked toward Petunia, who still seemed upset.

"Well, you can go then," said Vernon, all business. His face had straightened out, now its regular color. He picked up the newspaper and began to read it again. Holly started to smile unstoppably and she looked toward Petunia.

Petunia looked up at her. "Don't ever change your ideals, young lady," said Petunia. "Before you go I must finish teaching you how to be a proper lady."

Holly nodded grimly. This was serious business.


	3. the true history of holly potter

**a/n;** Thanks, everyone, for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm so glad people are enjoying the story! :D I hope you all continue to!

**disclaimer; **I don't own _Harry Potter_, which is probably a good thing._  
_

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**the fabulously vintage world of holly potter**

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—_third: the true history of holly potter_

Another problem soon came to light: Holly had no idea how or where to buy her school supplies. When she sent her enrollment letter later that day with the owl, which she did not mention to her aunt or uncle, she asked about the supplies. Where should she buy them? Did the wizarding world have the same currency as the Muggle one? (Holly had decided, from reading Deputy Headmistress McGonagall's letters, that Muggle meant non-magic.) Why on Earth would she ever desire to wear a pointy black hat? How utterly expected of wizards; how very dull.

In the response to Holly's second letter, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall wrote that she would be sending someone to help Holly go out and gather her things. That someone would be arriving within the next day; his name would be Rubeus Hagrid. The name sounded as though it belonged in one of Dudley's sci-fi movies about the apocalypse.

Holly was sitting in the living room watching the television with Dudley when a loud knocking echoed down the front hall. "I'll get the door," Holly declared, jumping to her feet. This was rather pointless, however, as Dudley was the only other one in the house; Vernon was at work and Petunia was in the backyard gardening.

Would Rubeus Hagrid be a gentleman wizard? Holly certainly hoped so. She reflected, excited, on the possibilities as she neared the front door. Then she reached down, gripped the door handle, and swung the door open.

A massive man stood on the other side—if he could be called a man. He was more of a giant. _Were giants real as well?_ Holly decided they must have been. He had thick, unruly hair and a black beard that matched. He had small dark eyes that flashed in the sunlight outside, and he looked fairly tan. He was wearing an incredibly unfashionable brown overcoat. It also must have, Holly thought, been incredibly hot; it was a sunny July day outside. The day before her birthday, in fact.

Holly knew it was rude to stare and smiled at the man. "Hello," she said, sticking out her hand toward him. "Are you Rubeus Hagrid?"

"Yes ma'am," said Mr. Hagrid, shaking Holly's hand gently. His hand could have engulfed half her body. "And you mus' be Holly Potter! Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby!" He smiled at her. "Yeh look a lot like yer mum, but yeh've got yer dad's eyes."

Holly blinked at him. "Thank you," she said graciously, hoping this was a compliment. She quickly moved out of the doorway. "Please, do come in. I can start some tea if you would like."

"No, no, that's all righ'," said Mr. Hagrid. "I'll jus' sit down for a mo', if that's all righ', before we head out."

Watching Mr. Hagrid walk down the hallway was a very surreal experience. Watching him turn into the living room and frighten Dudley out of his wits was an even better one. "Dudley," said Holly, while Dudley quivered behind an armchair in his pajamas and Mr. Hagrid watched in amusement, "this is Mr. Hagrid. He's from the school I'll be attending in the fall."

"Oh," Dudley squeaked.

Holly turned back toward Mr. Hagrid, who had taken up the entire couch by sitting down. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea?" Petunia had ground being a good hostess into her skull.

"I'm sure," said Mr. Hagrid. "Yeh don' need to call me Mister, by the way."

"Oh," said Holly, surprised. "All right." She flashed him a smile before seating herself in a cushy chair across from him, nearer to the television set. She turned off the television, which Dudley had left on, and focused her attention on Hagrid. "What will we be doing today? Is there a place we can buy all my supplies in London?"

Hagrid raised his eyebrows. At least, Holly thought he did; she couldn't make out his face very well under all his hair. "Yeh don' know?" he asked.

Holly shook her head and clasped her hands in her lap.

"Did yeh know about Hogwarts?"

Holly shook her head again. "I wrote a letter back asking for more information, though," she offered. "It sounds like a very good school."

"It's the best," said Hagrid, but he sounded puzzled. "Didn' yer aunt an' uncle tell yeh about yer parents and Hogwarts?"

Holly shook her head for the third time, perplexed. "All I know is that they died in a car crash," she said, wondering if this was too much information to share with a man she'd only just met.

"Yeh don' even know they're—_you're_—famous?" Hagrid demanded.

"Famous!?" Holly repeated, astounded. "For what?"

She and Hagrid stared at each other for a long moment. Then Petunia entered the house through the back door. "Dudders!" she called. "Holly! Are you ready for some lunch yet…?" She stopped short at the entrance to the living room, her voice trailing off. Then she said, as she straightened her apron and managed not to stare, "Hello. You must be here to help Holly with her school supplies."

Hagrid looked to Petunia in astonishment. Holly was proud of her aunt for her reaction. "This is Rubeus Hagrid," said Holly. "Hagrid, this is my Aunt Petunia."

"Good morning," said Petunia. Holly could tell she was trying not to be uncomfortable.

"Mornin'," said Hagrid. "Yeh haven't told her a thing abou' yer sister?"

There was no mistaking Petunia's level of discomfort now. "Well, no," said Petunia. "I don't like talking about her." She seemed to want to add _and it is none of your business_. Holly wanted to know more, but now it occurred to her that Hagrid was indeed being startlingly rude.

Hagrid gave Petunia a vaguely nasty look. Holly was affronted, as was Petunia. Petunia, however, stayed standing there, watching Hagrid speak to Holly. Dudley still hid behind the armchair; Holly was fairly certain she could hear a whimper. "Well, yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'," said Hagrid knowledgeably. "It's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh—mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…"

Holly wanted to tell him to get on with it and reach the point. It was impolite to beat around the bush so much.

"It begins, I suppose, with—with a person called—but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows—"

Holly waited for a moment, but Hagrid seemed to be waiting for her to ask the question. "What is his name?" Holly asked as politely as she could manage. She disliked interrupting people as she disliked being interrupted herself. Hagrid, however, seemed to be as different from anything Holly had ever encountered or imagined.

"Well—I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it," Hagrid said, clearly uncomfortable. "No one does."

Holly frowned. "Why?" She couldn't recall anyone being afraid to say 'Hitler' or 'Stalin.' She guessed, though, that the people being oppressed by those leaders had likely been afraid of their names, just in case there were secret police nearby. Holly wondered if Hagrid thought this terrible man—he had to be terrible, a great man would be lauded—had secret police stationed here. _How absurd!_

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Holly, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went…bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…"

Hagrid seemed to try and say it, but nothing came out.

"Excuse me?" asked Holly.

"All right—Voldemort," Hagrid suddenly blurted. Then he shivered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this—this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too—some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Holly. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches…terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him—an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Yer mum was even head girl at Hogwarts in her day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before…probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em…maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an'—an'—"

Quite suddenly Hagrid withdrew a handkerchief from his ugly coat and blew his nose into it. Holly exchanged a split-second glance with Petunia; they were both scandalized. "I think I understand," said Holly, hoping to spare everyone involved of more of Hagrid's storytelling.

"Tha's not the whole story, Holly," said Hagrid. "Anyway—You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then—an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing—he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead?"

Holly was startled. She had, in fact, quite forgotten she had it. The lightning-shaped scar on her forehead had become such a part of her life that she had accepted it a long time ago. Whenever anyone she met paused to ask about it, she merely reported that she couldn't remember, and everyone moved on.

"That was no ordinary cut," Hagrid continued. "That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh—took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even—but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Holly. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age—the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Suddenly Holly thought she could remember something. A flash of green light—and a high laugh. Was that the voice of Voldemort? Holly decided not to ask; Hagrid might have a meltdown in the living room.

As it was he was studying her sadly. "Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot. And You-Know-Who disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see…he was gettin' more an' more powerful—why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could'a done if he was comin' back.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Holly. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on—I dunno what it was, no one does—but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

For some reason now Hagrid was regarding Holly with respect. She felt it was rather childish to thank someone who had no idea what they'd done for something that had happened by matter of circumstance years ago. She hoped the rest of the wizarding world was less like Hagrid.

"Oh—got summat for yeh here—a very happy birthday to yeh," Hagrid added. "I might'a sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

Holly was torn between flattered and alarmed. "Well, thank you very much," she said, giving Hagrid a smile. He was digging in his dreadful overcoat; he came up with a smushed-looking box. He passed it to Holly, who opened the top and saw a badly-decorated homemade chocolate cake. _Happy Birthday Holly_ was written on it in blue icing. "I'm sure it will be delicious," Holly added, carefully closing the lid again.

"You can eat it when yeh get back," said Hagrid. He suddenly stood up and looked at Petunia, who now seemed disgruntled. "Thanks fer lettin' me sit in yer house an' all."

"I have a question," said Petunia. She was using her clipped tone, the one that meant she was angry but didn't want to say it. "Where will Holly be finding the money to buy all these school supplies? We haven't enough set aside for it."

Petunia made a fair point. Holly looked to Hagrid. "Oh, don't worry about that," said Hagrid with a lopsided shrug. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

Holly blinked at him. "I suppose not."

"First stop for us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank—only one. Run by goblins."

"Goblins?" Petunia echoed.

"Yeah—so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Holly. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want to keep safe—'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business. He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you, gettin' things from Gringotts—knows he can trust me, see."

Hagrid glanced down at Holly. "Got everythin'?" he asked.

"Oh—no," said Holly. "One moment, please." She rushed out of the living room, hopefully leaving too fast for Dudley to notice she'd taken the cake with her. She hurried upstairs to grab a hat and a small brown leather purse; she set the cake down on her desk, away from important papers in case it melted, and then strode back downstairs. In the front hall she pulled on her favorite brown Oxford shoes.

Hagrid squeezed back down the hallway. Petunia was right behind him. "Have a good day," Petunia said to Holly. "Make sure you buy all the necessities."

"I will," said Holly. "Goodbye."


	4. the world of wizards

**a/n;** When I uploaded this chapter and I saw the word count, I shouted, "Holy shit!" I definitely did not mean to carry on this long. I don't want to split the chapter up, so I hope you all find this interesting enough to sit through! Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and alerts, and, as always, I hope you all enjoy!

**disclaimer;** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

**the fabulously vintage world of holly potter**

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—_fourth: the astonishingly absurd and impolite world of wizards_

Holly wanted to explode with questions on their way to wherever they were going, but she was also rather occupied with all the information she had just been given. As they walked and then took a bus to London, Holly considered everything. Her parents had been famous? How very odd. It was even odder considering her mother's sister wasn't famous at all. The relations between them must have been terrible.

Holly wasn't sure how she felt about being famous. Famous for nearly killing a Dark tyrannical wizard? Hmm. Holly disliked the idea that the wizard, who was apparently still out there somewhere, had a grudge against her. She knew if she was Voldemort then she would have a grudge against a baby who almost killed her. It would have felt absurd and horrible, particularly after working so hard to reach a goal of power.

But she was not sympathetic at all toward Voldemort, whoever he was. Hagrid was so afraid to speak of him that Holly had to assume the worst. Voldemort was a murderer, and he likely tried to clean up the population by killing all the people he disliked or was prejudiced against for some reason. Holly was somewhat proud of herself at that point, even though she knew it was silly; she hated prejudiced people of all kinds.

Something else to think about was how the wizarding world was run. Holly wondered if there was some sort of government. Were there restrictions on leaving the country? Were there restrictions on immigrants? Were there magical races other than wizards running around? Were vampires real? Was there a sort of hospital system? Did wizards go to law school? What kind of jobs did she have the opportunity to get now?

Holly also pulled her folded-up list of school supplies from her purse. It had come with her first letter. It read:

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

_Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_Dress slacks (black or gray) and button-ups (white) for boys_

_Pleated skirt (black or gray) and button-ups (white) for girls_

_Long-sleeved or short-sleeved vests (black or gray)_

_Please note that it is best to match, and that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory by Albert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_wand_

_cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set_

_telescope set_

_brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

Broomsticks? Was Holly truly going to become the stereotypical image of a witch? She hoped she wouldn't have to dye her skin green; that would look truly disgusting, particularly against her shade of red hair.

Hagrid led the way down a few streets in London. He parted the crowds like Moses parted the Red Sea; Holly had to make sure to keep up with him or stay close behind him. She didn't doubt, however, that she would be able to locate him if she lost him: he easily towered over everyone else on the sidewalks.

They passed all sorts of interesting shops and cinemas, but Hagrid stopped at a rundown pub on a corner of a dark alleyway, right beside a record shop. "This is it," said Hagrid almost proudly. "The Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It didn't look very famous to Holly, but considering the fact that she was, apparently, famous and hadn't known it, she knew she couldn't judge. The outside of the building was small and dark. The windows looked like they needed a good pressure-washing.

Hagrid led the way inside. The inside was no better than the outside; it was shabby and badly lit. Holly felt a little uncomfortable standing there in her nice clothes. Hagrid seemed to fit right in in that horrid overcoat of his.

However, the people inside the pub made up for its other lackluster qualities. There were witches and wizards everywhere. Some read newspapers—with moving pictures; Holly had to rub her eyes to make sure she wasn't dreaming it up—and others stirred tea without using their hands at all. There was a group of people in their early twenties playing some card games in the back and laughing loudly.

The majority of the people looked up when Hagrid and Holly entered, and many of them waved. "'Lo," Hagrid said to almost everyone in passing, nodding at them. They all nodded and smiled back and offered greetings.

When they passed the bartender, the man called out, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid. He must have intended to pat Holly's shoulder but he nearly flung her to the ground.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, leaning over to squint at Holly. "Is this—can this be—?"

The pub went entirely silent. Holly remembered that Petunia would have been shocked and affronted if she acted anything other than a proper lady. So she smiled at Tom and managed not to look around at everyone else. "Hello," she said politely.

"Bless my soul," Tom whispered. "Holly Potter…what an honor."

He rushed around the back of the bar and around to the front, where Holly was standing. Tom took her hand in his, shaking it. There were actual tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Ms. Potter, welcome back."

"Thank you," said Holly, patting his hand. The poor dear must have lost someone important to Voldemort. That was the only reason Holly could think of for his emotional reaction to her simply standing here.

In the next minute nearly everyone in the Leaky Cauldron had lined up to shake Holly's hand. Holly was not quite sure how she felt about this. She smiled at people and patted their hands and thanked them, and she decided to compliment them when she could find something to genuinely compliment. Hagrid stood just behind her the whole time.

By the end of it all Holly was grateful for Hagrid. At least he wasn't like this, she thought, as a very emotional woman was shuffled away by her friends.

One of the last few people to walk up to Holly was a tall nervous-looking man in a purple turban. He was very pale and he seemed to keep twitching. "Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid from behind Holly. Holly was unpleasantly surprised; she hoped she would not have this man for a teacher, as he seemed rather incompetent, scared of his own shadow. "Holly, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

Oh, well. There was nothing to be done about it, then. Holly had to make the best of it. "What do you teach?" she asked Quirrell lightly.

"D—Defense Against the D—D—Dark Arts," Quirrell reported, stammering horribly. "N—not that you need it, eh, P—P—Potter? C—can't tell you how p—pleased I am to meet you." He sort of smiled, or attempted to. "You'll be g—getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g—got to p—pick up a new b—book on vampires, m—myself."

Holly was sort of proud of him for his valiant attempt at regular conversation. Hagrid decided to pull her away, then, though. "Come on, Holly," he said. "Must get on—lots ter buy."

"I'll see you at Hogwarts, Professor," Holly told Quirrell. He did his sort of smile again as she walked off with Hagrid. They exited the back of the bar and entered a small walled courtyard. It was smelly and hot there, and Holly wrinkled her nose, trying to keep from covering it. The source of the smell was several trash cans lined up against one wall.

Hagrid grinned over at Holly. "Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh—mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"He seemed like a very nervous fellow," said Holly.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject. Now, where's me umbrella?"

Holly watched absently as Hagrid pawed through the many pockets of his overcoat. She felt rather badly for poor Professor Quirrell; she wondered why the Headmaster had not just let the man go for the sake of his health. She also wondered at Hagrid's mentions of vampires and hags: she supposed she had been right, and that there were further magical races in the world. The thought was both astounding and exciting—there was so much to learn.

Hagrid managed to pull out a pink umbrella. Holly watched with interest now as Hagrid pointed the umbrella at bricks in the furthest wall. "Three up…two across," he mumbled to himself, following his own directions. "Right—and stand back, Holly."

Holly obeyed immediately. Hagrid tapped the wall three times.

The bricks all seemed to shiver. Then a hole appeared in one of them, and it spread to the others, until quite suddenly there was no wall at all. Beyond where the wall used to be was a long bustling street stuffed full of colorful shops and quick-moving people. Holly saw children running into shops and harried parents trying to keep up; she saw vendors on the sides of the streets trying to sell their wares to the passers-by; she saw lone people wandering along; she saw groups of friends with shopping bags.

"How brilliant," Holly said, a smile spreading across her face. She could have stood there and studied the street for hours if not for the smell of the trash cans.

"Isn' it?" said Hagrid, grinning broadly. "Welcome to Diagon Alley." He led the way between the leftover brick walls; Holly glanced back and noticed that the original wall they had come through was already back in its place. That was the first time she'd seen magic, she realized—well, done purposefully. It was amazing.

"We'll get yer money first," Hagrid said. He led the way down the street; people moved out of his way again, as Holly followed close behind. She caught sight of another girl with bushy brown hair looking around at everything, too, and she decided that she was also a first year who knew nothing about wizards.

Holly wondered how that was possible. Were wizards only allowed to have kids with other wizards? Did wizards ever come from Muggles? Her questions were only piling up, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted Hagrid's long-winded answers. She briefly considered sending Deputy Headmistress McGonagall another letter.

The bank was the largest building at the end of the street, settled on a corner just before a turn into another darker alley. Holly looked down the dark alley in interest and curiosity, but before she could see more than a man with long blond hair, Hagrid was tugging her along into Gringotts. "Tha's Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid in a low voice, as they entered the white marble building. "Yeh don' wanna be goin' there."

Holly started to ask why, but was suddenly distracted by the sight of what had to be a goblin. There were, in fact, goblins all over the inside of Gringotts. Holly had to force herself not to stare; gaping was not ladylike in the least. The goblins were a small, wrinkly bunch, all with pointy noses and long pale fingers. They all seemed to be judging her harshly in passing. Holly preferred emotional responses.

Hagrid led the way to what seemed to be the main counter. It was tall and wooden, at the very end of the massive main room. There was no line. "Morning," said Hagrid to a goblin at this front desk. "We've come ter take some money outta Ms. Holly Potter's safe."

"You have her key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid. He returned to that never-ending task of searching through his overcoat's pockets. Holly looked up at the pretty tiled ceiling overhead as Hagrid tried to find the key. Holly made a mental note to ask for the key herself later. "Got it," Hagrid said a moment later. The key was tiny and golden.

The goblin examined the key closely. "That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid. He seemed proud of himself for having such an important letter. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

Holly's burning curiosity made her decide that there was something of intriguing and grand importance in vault seven hundred and thirteen. If she was to know about it, however, she knew Hagrid would have simply said the word. She decided to find out what it was for herself.

Hagrid handed the goblin the letter and the goblin read it. "Very well," said the goblin after a few minutes of deliberation. "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

_What an absurd name,_ Holly thought. Perhaps it was a tradition of goblins to combine two strange words for names. Griphook, a sour-looking goblin, led the way out of the main room and down a hallway. At the end of the hall they entered a narrow stone passageway. After climbing down several flights of very steep steps that made Holly nervous, Griphook stopped in front of railway tracks and whistled.

A small railway cart came hurtling up to them. They all climbed in together and Holly tried very hard not to be smushed accidentally by Hagrid's wide girth. Once they were all in, the cart took off at the speed of light. It was utterly glorious—whipping around the corners and hurtling down dips in the railway made Holly think of a rollercoaster. She adored them.

Hagrid, she decided, would have hated rollercoasters, if he could fit in one. He looked slightly green. She hoped he wouldn't puke on her; she already felt about ready to lose her hat—she'd taken to holding onto it with one hand—and she didn't want to lose her dress to Hagrid vomit.

When the cart finally stopped after its thrilling ride, they were directly beside a small vault cut into the stone wall. Hagrid climbed out immediately and had to lean against the wall to catch his breath. Griphook unlocked the door with Holly's key; the door opened. Green smoke billowed out toward them and for a moment Holly's breath caught in her throat. She coughed as the smoke cleared.

Inside the vault there were, to Holly's pleased astonishment, piles and piles of different-colored coins. _Am I rich?_ was her first thought. "All yours," said Hagrid, having evidently gotten over the cart ride there. He smiled at Holly, who had to work to disguise her completely floored feeling.

Hagrid helped Holly stow away a good amount of coins into a small bag. Holly also crammed some money into her purse. As they went about this business Hagrid explained: "The gold ones are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough." Holly rather thought differently. "Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh."

"For me?" Holly echoed, before she could stop herself. "May I have my key, please?"

Hagrid raised his eyebrows. "Sorry ter say, but yeh don't really own this vault," he admitted, scratching at his great beard. "Yeh'll have to talk ter Dumbledore about it."

The wizarding world and the way it worked seemed to grow increasingly absurd. "Well, all right then," said Holly, because there was nothing else she could say.

Hagrid turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please—and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook, either delighted or bored by Hagrid's plight.

Together they all clambered back into the cart, after Griphook locked Holly's vault. Holly was still rather upset with the idea that somehow she was not allowed to have proper access to her own money. Who was this Dumbledore fellow? What right did he have to keep her from using what money she desired? Did he presume to think she would immediately spend it all upon gaining access to it? _How curiously absurd!_

The cart traveled even deeper, and seemed to rocket around corners even more quickly. Holly very nearly fell out of the cart after one particularly brain-shaking curve. Hagrid kept moaning quietly to himself. Holly grew increasingly worried about the large man's state of mind.

Finally, when the cart rattled to a halt, Holly caught sight of vault seven hundred and thirteen. There was no keyhole. Griphook told Hagrid, "Stand back," and touched the door with a finger. The door seemed to melt away.

Holly craned her neck from where she still sat in the cart to try and see inside the vault. She could only see Hagrid picking up a small package wrapped in brown paper; he stuck it into one of his many coat pockets. Then he walked back over to sit down in the cart again. "We'll be out of here soon," Holly said to him, hoping to alleviate some of his evident stress.

"We'd better," Hagrid muttered. "Don't ask me questions on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut."

Holly agreed and consequently kept to herself on the return trip. When she and Hagrid finally made it back out into the bright sunlight of the afternoon, Hagrid let out a breath of relief and relaxed. "Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid. He nodded in the direction of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Holly, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."

"I don't mind," said Holly politely. "If I've finished buying my robes by the time you return I'll probably be buying my other uniform things."

"Okay, good," said Hagrid, before he turned and stumbled off.

Holly stopped by a vendor on her way to Madam Malkin's to buy herself a sandwich wrap and a bottle of water. Once she had eaten this—she had been getting quite hungry, as she'd missed lunch—she headed for Madam Malkin's, feeling refreshed. It only took her about fifteen minutes to eat, and she supposed Hagrid would definitely be back before she left Madam Malkin's.

The shop was neatly decorated, and there were robes on display everywhere Holly happened to look. There was a small area for waiting customers; a tall, regal woman with blonde hair sat there, along with a man with long blond hair. Holly remembered having caught a glimpse of the man in Knockturn Alley. She smiled and nodded politely at them before turning to walk over to the counter.

When nobody appeared, Holly picked up the little silver bell settled on the counter and rang it twice. A short, plump woman with curly hair emerged from the back. She was wearing robes of a particular shade of purple. Holly could only guess at mauve. "Afternoon," Holly said to the woman. "I'd like to purchase robes for Hogwarts, please."

"Oh, I've got the lot here, dear," said the woman. She started to lead the way into the back again. "We have a young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

Holly trailed after the woman—who had to be Madam Malkin—into the back of the store. It was much messier than the front and seemed slightly more realistic. There was another woman scurrying about with measuring tape and pins in her mouth.

The other Hogwarts student was standing on a footstool while the other witch worked on his fittings. He was kind of short but still managed to seem a little gangly. He had the same shade of blond hair as the two regal people in the front of the shop, and his hair was pushed back with some kind of gel. Holly was surprised. She had thought the style had been out of date for decades. It didn't look bad on him, necessarily; it only made his features more pointed.

Holly stood up on a footstool beside the boy. Madam Malkin took her hat and her purse and then slipped a long black robe on over her head. Holly felt rather as though she was drowning in the material. "Hello," said the boy politely, as Holly was occupied trying to figure out the entire idea behind robes—why were they necessary at all? "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Holly.

"I'm about to drag my parents off to look at racing brooms," said the boy. He sounded somewhat disinterested even with his own conversation. "I don't see why first years can't have their own."

"I don't either," said Holly. "Perhaps they underestimate our intelligence."

"I should hope not," said the boy. "Have you got your own broom?"

"No, I haven't," Holly replied.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Well, no," said Holly, who had no idea what Quidditch was. She guessed it had to do with owning a broom, unless the boy was fond of complete non sequiturs, so on a whim she added, "I haven't got a broom."

The boy spared her a side-glance. "How unfortunate," he remarked, still sounding bored. "I play—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree."

_How dull,_ Holly thought. She was finding the boy just as uninteresting as he seemed to find her. Arrogance was utterly boring.

"Know what house you'll be in?" the boy asked.

"Haven't any idea," Holly answered. She hadn't any idea what he was referring to, either, but she kept that information to herself.

The boy shrugged. The witch adjusting his robes looked annoyed. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"What's wrong with Hufflepuff?" asked Holly, more out of curiosity than desire to defend it.

"Well, they never win anything, and they've only got the people who don't fit in anywhere else in their house," said the boy. He was looking at Holly with more interest now. "Why, d'you want to be in it?"

Holly had to consider. "No," she admitted. It didn't sound very nice. "But there's no need to announce its shortcomings; it's rather impolite."

The boy snorted. "And correcting me _is_ polite?"

"What if you were to run into someone who was very dedicated to Hufflepuff later?" Holly pointed out. "And you insulted it immediately? I don't think you'd get on very well with whoever that was."

"If they like Hufflepuff I don't want to," said the boy somewhat nastily.

"Too bad for you when we all grow up and they end up your manager," said Holly.

The boy looked momentarily startled, as if such an idea had never occurred to him, and then annoyed. Holly thought knowing was better than purposefully leaving yourself in the dark, so his irritation didn't bother her.

Holly looked back toward the front of the store. She could see the boy's parents in the small front lobby; and, just outside the front windows, Hagrid suddenly appeared. He was holding two ice creams, and he waved and then gestured at them, to show that he couldn't come in with them. Holly smiled back and hoped he'd bought vanilla.

"I say, look at that man!" blurted the boy beside her.

"Oh, that's Hagrid," said Holly. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy. "He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"I don't think so," Holly answered. "He seems to run a lot of errands for the headmaster, but I'm fairly certain he's not a servant." She thought he might be too outspoken for a servant. Did wizards have servants? Holly was coming to realize that the more she learned about the wizarding world the more questions she had.

"Well, I heard he's a sort of savage," said the boy. "Lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

Holly looked back out at Hagrid with the ice cream, now facing out toward the street. The boy's words sounded either rehearsed or remembered, as if his father used to say them so often he just remembered them. This boy was growing increasingly dull. "I doubt that," said Holly. "They would fire him if he did such inane things as that." She was proud of herself for remembering the word 'inane.' "And there's no need for you to be so astonishingly rude about rumors you've only heard people say before. The truth is much better."

The boy let out a short, bitter laugh of annoyance. "The truth is much better, eh? And what is the truth?"

Holly eyed him calmly. "The truth is that if you do not stop moving she will prick you with a pin."

And, indeed, the witch who was trying to fit the boy's robes was looking angrier and angrier. "Why is that man with you, anyway?" the boy almost demanded. "Where are your parents?"

Holly's opinion of the boy had bypassed _dull_ and gone into _astoundingly impolite_. "I do not even know your name. I am not going to rehash my history to you in detail."

"They were our kind, weren't they?" the boy persisted.

"Would it matter if they weren't?" asked Holly, who still wasn't sure if this was possible.

"Of course!" said the boy. He felt very strongly about this issue, apparently. "They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter. Imagine! I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families."

"Isn't that a bit incestuous?" asked Holly. She'd heard Petunia mention it about some celebrity once.

"What?" said the boy.

"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkin said to Holly. Holly cheerfully removed the robes and headed to the front of the store with Madam Malkin, leaving the blond boy in the back.

Out of a requirement for politeness only, Holly glanced back before leaving the boy's line of sight. "Have a good afternoon," she said to him.

He snorted. "You too."

Holly wondered if all wizards were this way. Hagrid, she supposed, was a giant, and not a wizard; then again, she had seen him do magic in that ugly courtyard outside the Leaky Cauldron. Furthermore, Professor Quirrell had seemed nice enough, although scared to death of everything in sight.

After purchasing her new robes at Madam Malkin's, Holly went outside to join Hagrid. Her ice cream was starting to melt. Holly thought it miraculous that it hadn't melted yet. "Thanks," said Holly happily, as she began to eat it. He had bought chocolate, but she didn't mind. "I met a very dull boy in there. He said he was going to Hogwarts as well. What are the houses?"

"Oh, tha's right," said Hagrid. "I keep forgettin' yeh don' know anythin' about Hogwarts. There are four houses—Gryffindor, that's the best in my opinion, everyone's brave and selfless. Ravenclaw's good too, everyone's smart there—people say Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but I think Slytherin's the worst. There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

Holly frowned. She had disliked the boy's drawling arrogance from before, but Hagrid's prejudice against Slytherin also seemed altogether unfounded. Holly thought she should probably not correct a possible future teacher on his manners, but she wanted to ask him why he felt it necessary to be so astoundingly impolite. Were all wizards this way? Holly hoped never to forget her manners.

"Is Quidditch a sport?" Holly inquired, mostly to change the subject.

"Yes, a real inter'stin' one too—I don' like it meself, afraid o' heights—blimey, yeh really don' know much, do yeh?"

Holly tried not to feel offended. "Not having been raised in a wizarding home, I would not expect to know much," she said. She feared she may have sounded slightly colder than she wanted, so she added, "It was that boy in Madam Malkin's that made me wonder. He said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed into Hogwarts."

"Yer not from a Muggle family," said Hagrid. Holly stifled a sigh; he seemed to be missing the point entirely. "If he'd known who yeh were—he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line of Muggles—look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"How rude!" Holly burst before she could stop herself. "Aunt Petunia tries very hard!"

Hagrid looked uncomfortable. He seemed to redden before quickly averting his gaze. "Anyway," he said. "About Quidditch. It is a wizardin' sport—it's like—like soccer in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules."

Holly was still rather irritated with the man, and she did not dignify his valiant attempt at conversation with an answer. They moved on to purchase the rest of her uniform—Holly picked out several sets of both gray and black—before heading to pick up more regular supplies. Holly soon found herself loaded down with apparently absurd materials such as quills and inkwells; why on Earth, she wanted to know, hadn't wizards discovered pens?

The most interesting part thus far was the trip to Flourish and Blotts, the main bookstore. Holly, whose tastes were purely classic, surprised herself by wanting to buy a variety of nonfiction. She wanted to learn as much as she could about the wizarding world. She bought at least two political books and one on the history of the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid stopped her from buying a book on funny jinxes; he told her, "Yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances, and yeh can't jinx anyone at school. An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

That was disappointing, but Holly decided the rest of the day was exciting enough not to let that get her down. She bought a pewter cauldron and saw a variety of incredibly odd items that apparently went into potions. After leaving this place of genuine oddities, Hagrid paused to read over Holly's list again. Since her outburst some time past she and Hagrid had gotten back onto better terms.

"Just yer wand left," Hagrid announced. "Oh, yeah—an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Holly thought of the sticky cake back home in her room, probably already devoured by Dudley. "You really mustn't," said Holly. "I've only just really met you. Besides, you already gave me a cake earlier."

"Oh, I want to," said Hagrid. "I knew yer parents an' all." He suddenly looked upset, and Holly hoped he wouldn't burst into tears in the middle of the bustling street. "Tell yeh what—I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at—an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Holly thought she might like to have a cat, but Hagrid's point did make sense; owls were much more useful. A cat might have been nice to cuddle with in the winter, but an owl made communication easier. In fact, Holly was already thinking of the letters to write to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall when she arrived home.

Soon she had her means to send those letters: a white snowy owl, the prettiest one in Eeylops Owl Emporium. "Oh, Hagrid," Holly declared, unable to stop staring at her new owl. "Thank you so much!"

She repeated her thanks so often that Hagrid was starting to grow embarrassed. "Don' mention it," he said multiple times.

Hagrid led the way to Ollivander's, which was one of the various wand shops in the long alley. Hagrid reported that it was the best. The front of the store made Holly think that the owner didn't care enough to keep up its appearance, but she thought of the Leaky Cauldron and the wondrous world it led to and decided not to judge quite yet.

Inside was dark and somewhat gloomy. There were shelves upon shelves of small rectangular black boxes with little white labels on the sides. Holly looked around for a moment; there was a counter in front of them, but nobody seemed to be working there, and there was no bell to summon anyone.

Holly glanced back at Hagrid, who looked nonplussed.

"Good afternoon," said someone quite suddenly. Holly's head snapped back toward the counter; an elderly man with hunched shoulders had appeared. He had large blue eyes that he blinked owlishly at Holly with.

"How do you do?" said Holly.

"Ah, yes," said the man, whom Holly could only assume was Mr. Ollivander. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you here soon. Holly Potter." Mr. Ollivander paused to study her for a moment. "You have your father's eyes. It seems only yesterday he was in here himself, buying his first wand. Eleven inches, mahogany. Made for power and transfiguration."

Mr. Ollivander leaned forward slightly. Holly took the smallest of steps backward. She wished the man would blink. As it was he seemed rather like a snake. "Your mother, on the other hand, favored a willow wand. Ten and a quarter inches. Swishy. Nice wand for charm work. Well, I say your mother favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Then, to Holly's surprise and grief, Mr. Ollivander actually reached forward and poked her in the forehead. "And that's where…" He trailed off for a moment. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…well, if I'd known what that wand was going out in the world to do…"

Holly, quite indignant at this uninvited touching, straightened up. Mr. Ollivander strongly reminded her of an argument she'd heard out in the world several times against firearms. "It is not the weapon that commits the crime, Mr. Ollivander," she said. "It is the hand that uses it."

Mr. Ollivander looked at her for a long moment. "Wise," he finally said. "Very wise for such a young age, Ms. Potter."

"Thank you, sir," said Holly, flattered.

Mr. Ollivander's creepy gaze traveled past Holly for the first time, and he caught sight of Hagrid. It was, in Holly's opinion, a wonder he hadn't seen the massive man before. "Rubeus!" he exclaimed, in a complete change of attitude. "Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, yes, sir," said Hagrid awkwardly.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?"

_Expelled?_ Holly couldn't help but take a quick peek back at Hagrid when this was mentioned. Did she have an absolute troublemaker running around with her? He was nice enough, she thought. How on Earth had he managed to get expelled? The only circumstance that occurred to her was that perhaps he had been trying to protect a friend of his.

_How selfless,_ Holly thought, rather proud of Hagrid, even though her theory wasn't even proven. "Er—yes, they did," Hagrid was saying, looking down at his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added somewhat more cheerfully.

That, Holly decided, explained the magical qualities of the pink umbrella. He had used it to reach Diagon Alley, after all.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid.

"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander. He seemed to have noticed how uncomfortable and suspicious Hagrid now looked. Still, he slowly turned back to Holly. "Well, now—Ms. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long silver tape measure out of the pocket of his dress slacks. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm right-handed," said Holly. "If that's what you mean."

"Hold out your arm. That's it." Mr. Ollivander went about measuring Holly's arm in a variety of ways. Then, for some reason, he seemed to think it necessary to measure around her head as well. Her height also seemed to factor into this. Holly hadn't an inkling as to why, and she supposed skeptically that Mr. Ollivander might not know, either. He did seem a tad bonkers.

As Mr. Ollivander made his weird measurements with a tape measure that moved on its own, he chattered at her: "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Holly blinked and realized that while she had been preoccupied with the now startlingly rude tape measure—of course her chest was not fully developed yet, she'd only just gotten her period—Mr. Ollivander had moved away to look at the shelves. Holly slapped it when Mr. Ollivander turned around to look up at a shelf of narrow boxes, and she could have sworn she heard Hagrid chortle behind her.

Mr. Ollivander looked back. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure dropped straight away to the floor with a smack. "Right then, Ms. Potter. Try this one." He scurried back over to open a box and offer its contents to Holly. "Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Holly, already feeling foolish, took the proffered wand and waved it randomly. A couple of boxes fell off the nearest shelf. Mr. Ollivander quickly snatched the wand back, and then offered her another. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

Holly waved this one around and managed to smash a vase of flowers on the counter's corner. She winced and handed Mr. Ollivander the wand back. Mr. Ollivander was starting to look puzzled, but also increasingly cheerful. "No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

That wand failed as well. So did the next, and the next. After some time of incidentally causing mayhem, Mr. Ollivander finally hurried to the far back of the store. He dug around for a few minutes before returning, a strangely satisfied look on his face. "Tricky customer, eh?" he said, apparently to himself, as he made his way back around the counter. "Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

"It also matches my name," said Holly brightly, as Mr. Ollivander offered her the wand.

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Ollivander impatiently.

Holly picked up the wand; immediately it felt warm in her fingers. She waved it: this time a combination of pretty gold sparks showered from the tip. Holly smiled as Hagrid cheered and clapped, and Mr. Ollivander exclaimed, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…"

Mr. Ollivander wrapped Holly's wand back up in its box with brown paper. As he went about this task, he continued to murmur to himself about how very curious it was. Holly was growing incredibly curious herself; Mr. Ollivander seemed a bit batty, but she wanted to know what on Earth he was referring to.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ollivander," Holly said, as she dug around in her purse for the seven Galleons he'd asked for, "but what is so curious?"

Mr. Ollivander took her proffered money and handed her the box in exchange. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Ms. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother…why, its brother gave you that scar."

Holly stared at the strange old man. She couldn't help it. She could not even think of a proper word to describe the situation: _how…how…how what!?_ She hadn't any idea. "Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, looking disturbingly smirk-like. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter… After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

Was that her destiny? Holly had no faith whatsoever in any idea of a destiny. She had faith in God and free will, not destiny. Quite suddenly the entire encounter became utterly absurd—ridiculously so. She narrowed her eyes at Mr. Ollivander. _Sure, old man,_ she wanted to say._ Sure…_

Holly and Hagrid soon left Mr. Ollivander's wand shop, much to Holly's relief. They set out on their way back home to Privet Drive. Holly felt a little strange carting around a snowy owl in a cage, but she smiled and nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world when she caught anyone's eye. It would be a great relief, she decided, when she was back home and a normal person just like anyone else.

She wasn't sure she liked this famous thing. She thought about it as she and Hagrid stopped for some dinner before her train arrived. "You all right, Holly?" Hagrid asked, as Holly sat contemplating existence and eating a hamburger. "Yer very quiet."

Holly thought about it for a moment. Was she all right? She couldn't be sure. "Everyone thinks I'm special," Holly finally said. "But I know that I'm not. I may be lucky, but I am no different from all those people in the Leaky Cauldron that wanted to shake my hand. I thought my parents died in a car crash up until several days ago. How on Earth could I be special for something I can't even remember?"

Hagrid smiled kindly. "Don' you worry, Holly. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts—I did—still do, 'smatter of fact."

Holly knew this was as good a pep talk as she was going to get and nodded in agreement. What she wanted to know was how all these people could possibly expect her to do great things. She liked reading classic Muggle fiction and learning about how things worked. She liked riding her bike and rollerblading around her neighborhood. She liked sleeping over at her friends' houses and helping her aunt make dinner. She liked playing piano and dancing ballet; there was nothing important or special about her at all. She wasn't even eleven yet: how senseless, how illogical did one have to be to think she, plain old Holly Elizabeth Potter, could ever do something great?

But even if the rest of the world was absolutely bonkers, Holly would hold her head high and fake confidence. It was, of course, what a proper lady would do.


	5. in which rudeness runs in the family

**a/n;** Shit, y'all, I'm sorry I wrote so much! I think this chapter is even longer than the last! :P Oh well, maybe the length will make up for the lateness. My apologies; I'm just the laziest person I know. Anyway, I'll start really deviating from canon next chapter. Hope you guys stick around to see what happens! :) Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! You guys are great! :D

**disclaimer;** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

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**the fabulously vintage world of holly potter**

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—_fifth: in which rudeness runs in the family_

The final month before term began was, in short, peculiar. Holly's birthday came and went; she celebrated with her friends who weren't on vacation, and they had a neat garden party in the backyard. Holly thought Petunia just liked excuses to throw garden parties—the two still weren't on the best of terms anymore. Holly wasn't sure if they ever had been.

Holly liked spending time with her owl. She had decided to name her Hedwig. It was a pleasantly old-fashioned name she had found in one of her textbooks. Holly wrote one further letter to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, inquiring about the multitude of questions that had occurred to her in Diagon Alley. They included:

_How is it possible for wizards to come from Muggles?_

_Are there restrictions on wizards leaving the country?_

_Are there restrictions on immigrants?_

_How many magical races are there?_

_Is there a hospital system?_

_Do wizards go to law school?_

_What kind of jobs will I have the opportunity to apply for?_

_What is the true meaning of the houses at Hogwarts?_

_Is there any one house that will provide anything better than the rest?_

She decided to stop there, just in case she was overwhelming the poor woman. It was best not to frighten a possible future professor, she thought. While she waited for Deputy Headmistress McGonagall's reply, she read her textbooks. The ones on political issues were rather difficult to comprehend but Holly thought she understood the gist of them.

The Ministry of Magic seemed to be utterly incompetent. The branches of it were explained, but none of them seemed to truly encompass what they needed to. Holly also thought it was strange that there were barely any lawyers for other magical races. What if a goblin wanted to sue a wizard? Was it near impossible? _How unjust!_

Holly also spent a great deal of time organizing ways to keep her current endeavors going in the future. She asked for a notebook of routines she could learn to keep up her ballet from her ballet instructor, and she asked her piano teacher for the songs she was meant to learn in the coming year. On her birthday Aunt Petunia gave her a little orange book called _How to Live Like a Lady_. Holly rather thought this book was the most important of all—besides her Bible, of course.

She told her friends that she would be attending a prestigious academy in Scotland, although she didn't say which one. Allison and Jane were sad, but not overly so; they were going to be separated from her anyway, as they were to attend Stonewall. Jenna and Melanie were downright depressed: but, as Holly pointed out, at least they had each other. She would be going somewhere where she had no one.

Privately Holly thought that at least she had two teachers on her side: Hagrid and, hopefully, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. She rather thought she and the Deputy Headmistress had formed some sort of bond over all her questions. A couple of days before Holly had to leave for the train station—Hagrid had given her a special ticket she would need to get on the train to Hogwarts—she received a reply:

_Magic is a very mysterious thing, Ms. Potter, and it is quite unexplainable. No one is entirely sure how wizards can, indeed, come from Muggles, but there are experiments in certain departments in the Ministry of Magic doing research on the topic. However, all magic is the same; there is no reason for discrimination against people who are from wizards or who are from Muggles._

_No, there are no restrictions on leaving the country. However, the Ministry does ask to be informed when someone intends to move out of the United Kingdom._

_No, there are no restrictions on immigrants. The Ministry asks to be informed about this as well, however. They need to have some idea of the size of the wizarding population._

_There are a great many magical races, all of which you can find in your textbooks._

_Yes, there is a hospital system. The main hospital is St. Mungo's._

_Yes, wizards can go to law school._

_There are all sorts of jobs you can apply for. The opportunities most people such as yourself might want to look into in the future would be as a professor, a Healer, or a Ministry worker._

_There is background on all four houses in your textbooks. However, for a short summary: Gryffindor is my house, and it is for those who are brave and strong, although not necessarily even-tempered. Slytherin is for those who are ambitious and cunning, although they can be known to climb over others to reach the top. Ravenclaw has the same downfall as Slytherin, but they are very intelligent and thoughtful. Finally Hufflepuff is the most loyal and kind of all the houses; their honesty and hard work keeps them entirely grounded._

_No, there is no one house that will provide more than the rest. It depends entirely on who you are and who you want to be._

Holly hoped the Deputy Headmistress did not think she was insane.

The evening before the day Holly would set off for Hogwarts, she cautiously brought it up at the dinner table. Dudley was on his third helping and Vernon was venting about a bad coworker to Petunia, who was listening quite calmly and humming in agreement.

When Vernon finished his story and they had all been silent for a moment, Holly said, "I'm sorry to bring this up, but—can one of you please drive me to the train station tomorrow morning? My train leaves at eleven."

"Yes, of course," said Petunia. "Which platform are you leaving from?"

Holly frowned. This had troubled her a bit, but she hadn't bothered to think too much on it. She figured perhaps it was a place like the Leaky Cauldron, innocuous and, at first, seemingly nonexistent. "Platform Nine and Three Quarters," she said.

Vernon stared at her. Dudley snickered with his mouth full. Petunia said, "That's not a real place."

"It was on my ticket," said Holly.

"Well, I suppose we will find out tomorrow," said Petunia with a sigh.

And indeed they did. The following morning Holly woke at five; she was too full of nervous and excited energy to fall asleep again, so she stayed awake and organized her things. She went back over the packing list she had made and double-checked everything. Then she triple-checked.

She tried to sit down and read for a few minutes, but her excitement made her want to walk around. So at seven in the morning Holly took out her bike and went for one last ride. She returned around seven-forty-five; she had left a note for her aunt and uncle in the kitchen on her whereabouts. Neither of them seemed worried when she wandered back in.

Holly had enough time to shower and change her outfit—and try to swallow some breakfast—before she and Petunia set out. She said goodbye to Uncle Vernon before he left for work; he seemed quieter than usual, but not put out at all; and she pounded on Dudley's door to shout that she was leaving, at which Dudley grunted. Holly supposed that was the best goodbye she would get.

When she and Petunia reached the place where her platform was supposed to be, they both stopped. "I don't see it," said Petunia. "Do you?"

Holly frowned. There was a large plastic sign for platform nine, and beyond that was a large plastic sign for platform ten; however, there was nothing in between, save a man in a shabby raincoat. "How peculiar," Holly remarked.

Petunia and Holly stared at the blank stretch of wall between the two platforms for a moment. "I think I remember there being something you had to do," Petunia finally said. "But I can't for the life of me remember what, exactly."

Holly should have known Hagrid had forgotten to tell her something. He was a very kind man—although impolite—but he struck her as the forgetful type. "Do you think I ought to tap the brick or something?" Holly asked.

"Oh, please don't," Petunia replied immediately. She was afraid of looking weird in public.

A moment later, a rather large group approached from behind them. Holly thought they were going to pass by and head for Platform Ten; but she caught a couple of words from their chatter—"packed with Muggles, of course"—and her idea changed completely. She twisted around to look more closely at them—it was a clan of redheads.

Most of them were pushing large trunks; they also had a tawny owl. "I think they're wizards," Holly muttered to Aunt Petunia, who also turned to look at their new neighbors. One gangly redheaded boy in particular was standing rather close to Holly, who felt slightly affronted at this pushing of her personal space.

"Now, what's the platform number?" a plump woman asked. She was holding a girl's hand; she had to be the matriarch of the redhead clan.

"Nine and three quarters!" cried the girl. "Mum, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

The tallest of the bunch turned toward the stretch of blank wall. Petunia and Holly watched in fascination as the boy strode toward the wall and then sped up to a jog—and then a group of tourists swarmed by, blocking their sight.

When the tourists had left, Percy was gone. "Fred, you next," said the mother.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said one of two identical redheaded boys. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, before following his brother's footsteps and going straight at the wall. He drew so close to it Holly thought he might smack his head: instead, he went straight through it.

_How very odd!_ Holly thought, staring. His twin brother went right through it as well. Holly looked around; this was situated in one of the worst possible places: any Muggle could turn and watch it happen as well.

"I think you just run at the wall," Petunia murmured. "How strange."

Holly and Petunia turned toward each other now, to say their goodbyes. Holly felt, for the first time, a little prickle of fear, and a strain of sadness; she was leaving everything she knew for a place that was utterly absurd. "Remember to read your book," said Petunia. Her eyes were growing misty. "And don't forget to practice your piano and ballet. Oh—and don't you ever forget your manners. Remember: speak so people want to listen, and listen so people want to speak."

"I will," said Holly.

"Ah—and always remember as well, this always helps me—even if you don't want to be somewhere, always dress up and show up, and never, ever give up. That way people will see you for who you are. You are somebody, Holly Potter." With that, Petunia actually reached over and gave Holly a tight hug.

Holly thought they both might cry. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia," said Holly. "I'll see you soon."

"Don't forget to write," said Petunia, pulling back. She straightened the collar of Holly's dress before turning and walking off, back down the platforms. Holly didn't turn to watch her go; looking back was no way to start something new. Instead, she turned to see how the redheaded clan was faring now.

There was only one boy left, with his mother and little sister. Holly thought she could wait for them to finish up; but there were only ten minutes left before eleven o'clock, and Holly would have hated to be late on her first day. So she took a step forward and said, "Excuse me?"

All of them turned to stare at her. Immediately their eyes trailed upward to find the scar on her forehead. The little girl gasped. "I'm sorry," said Holly, trying to ignore their incredulousness, "But could any of you tell me how to get onto the platform? I'm afraid I'm rather new at this."

"I'd say so, you poor dear," said the mother. "Holly Potter, is it?"

"Well, yes," said Holly, struggling not to grow annoyed at the pity in the woman's gaze. Just because she'd been raised without her parents didn't mean she was an abused orphan. "How do you do?"

"So polite," said the woman, giving her son a significant look. "Anyway, about the platform. Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"All right," said Holly. "Thank you." She flashed a smile at them all before turning toward the barrier. She rolled her shoulders back before pushing her cart right at the barrier. She sped up as she went; her excitement doubled; and then she was through the wall and on the other side.

Now there was a scarlet steam engine waiting beside a platform crammed full of people. Holly smiled at the sight: then she hurried over to follow everyone else's leads: she still didn't want to be late. She carefully pushed her way through the crowd, excusing herself every time she came remotely close to touching someone, and found an empty compartment close to the end of the train. On her way she passed a scared-looking boy who had been discussing the loss of his toad with his grandmother, and a black boy with dreadlocks who had apparently been showing off a large spider.

Holly carefully placed Hedwig inside her chosen compartment first. Then she began the struggle of lifting her trunk and carrying it in. She had been fighting it for a few minutes when one of the twins from earlier appeared out of nowhere. "Want a hand?" he asked, as Holly paused to frown down at her trunk.

"Oh, yes, please," she said brightly to him.

"Oi, Fred!" the twin called back over his shoulder. "C'mere and help!"

With both of the boys' assistance, they managed to carry the trunk in and tuck it away in a corner of the compartment, under the buttery leather seats. "Thank you very much," said Holly to the two boys, turning back toward them.

"What's that?" asked one of them quite suddenly, pointing at the scar on her forehead.

_Well,_ Holly thought, _it's a scar; I imagine you've seen one before, especially in a family with so many boys._ "Blimey," said the other twin, before Holly could figure out how to respond. "Are you—"

"She is," said the first. "Aren't you?" he added, looking at Holly.

"I'm Holly Potter, if that's what you mean," said Holly, rather annoyed with their speaking in half-sentences.

Both of them stared openly at her. "It's rather rude to stare, you know," she remarked dryly. One of them started to redden, but the other didn't seem to get the memo. Fortunately their mother's voice floated in from outside—"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum!" called the politer one. Holly imagined that was Fred. George followed his brother back outside.

Holly shook her head to herself and sat down in her compartment. She considered reaching up to riffle through her trunk until she found a book; instead she occupied herself with studying the people on the platform outside. The redheaded family had gathered there once again. "Ron, you've got something on your nose," said the mother, withdrawing a handkerchief from some pocket and using it to rub at the gangly one's face.

"Mum—geroff—" he wiggled about in a desperate attempt to free himself.

"Ah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose?" asked one of the twins.

"Shut up," snapped Ron. They all strongly reminded Holly of her relationship with Dudley. She supposed all brothers acted this childish. Then she surprised herself by realizing she'd categorized Dudley as her brother. She supposed in a strange way he sort of was.

"Where's Percy?" asked the mother, unbothered by her children's antics.

"He's coming now," said the polite twin.

The tallest one came back into sight; he had already changed into his robes, and they were billowing and black. Holly hoped she wouldn't look as ridiculous as he did in them. He looked like a twig. "Can't stay long, Mother," he said importantly when he reached the group. He had a badge on his chest with a 'P' on it. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" teased the rude twin. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on," said the nice one, playing along. "I think I remember him saying something about it. Once—"

"Or twice—"

"A minute—"

"All summer—"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy. Holly thought being a prefect might be a bit like being a hall monitor.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" complained the rude twin. Holly thought his hair might be styled slightly differently than the polite twin's, and she decided that was how she would tell them apart. She wished they would repeat their names again.

"Because he's a prefect," said their mother. "All right, dear, well, have a good term—send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek; he turned round immediately and left. She turned to the twins, one of whom already looked slightly disinterested. "Now, you two—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've—you've blown up a toilet or—"

Holly couldn't help but laugh at the idea. "Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet," said the polite one innocently.

"Great idea, though. Thanks, Mum," said the other one.

"It's not funny." Holly's mental images begged to differ. "And look after Ron."

"Don't worry," said the more talkative one, the rude one. "Ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," Ron retorted. Holly decided that this was as advanced as his comeback repertoire was. This was depressing.

"Oh, hey, Mum, guess what?" piped up, of course, the rude twin. "Guess who we just met on the train?"

Holly rolled her eyes and leaned back slightly, trying to look occupied with Hedwig. She could still hear them loud and clear, though. She wondered if they would complain about how she'd told them off for staring. "You know that ginger girl who was near us in the station?" the Rude One plowed onward. "Know who she is?"

"Yes," said his mother. "Holly Potter."

"Oh, Mum, can I see her again?" asked the little girl, tugging on her mother's hand. "Mum, please…"

"You've already seen her, Ginny," said the mother. "The poor girl isn't something you goggle at in a zoo." Holly felt a rush of affection for the mother. That woman, at least, must have been raised to be a proper lady, Holly thought. "Did you introduce yourself? How do you know?"

"Asked her," said the Rude One. "Saw her scar. It's really there—like lightning."

"Poor dear," commented the mother absently. "She was ever so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform."

Holly was proud that this was her legacy.

"Never mind that," interrupted the Rude One. "Do you think she remembers what You Know Who looks like?"

Holly raised her eyes to the ceiling and prayed for patience. She also prayed never to run into the Rude One again. Fortunately the redheads' mother became very stern. "I forbid you to ask her, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though she needs reminding of that on her first day of school."

_Too late,_ thought Holly, though she didn't particularly mind. She liked her aunt and uncle well enough and she'd never known her parents to miss them. Further, Voldemort was just something in a story—she hadn't really felt affected by him at all. "All right, keep your hair on," said Fred, the Rude One. Holly was glad to be able to put the correct name to the face. Now she knew the polite, quieter one was George.

The train whistle sounded. "Hurry up!" cried the mother, before presumably hustling all the boys onto the train. They had moved out of Holly's earshot and line of sight now, and she leaned back, relaxing into her seat. She crossed her legs and adjusted her dress, moving over to look out the window in anticipation of whatever was to come.

Suddenly the train began to move. Holly clasped her hands tightly in her lap and couldn't help but smile as she watched the platform shift out of her sight. She couldn't wait to see what on Earth this Hogwarts place was like.

The compartment door slid open before Holly could begin to imagine it. She glanced over and saw the boy from before, with the dirt on his nose and the tendency to say "Shut up." "Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat across from Holly. "Everywhere else is full."

Holly doubted this, as this was a magical train, and at least six hundred students had to fit onto it; however she flashed the boy a smile. "Go ahead and sit down," she said. "Are you excited?"

"Sort of," said the boy.

Before he could elaborate, the twins reappeared in the doorway. Holly looked them over for a moment while they turned to their younger brother. "Hey, Ron," said Fred. "Listen, we're going down to the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," said Ron. He looked embarrassed.

Directly then Holly accidentally managed to meet George's eye. She smiled at him politely. He said, "Oh—Holly—did we introduce ourselves? George and Fred Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother." He smiled back at her. She found him rather charming. "See you later, then."

"Sure," said Holly.

"Bye," said Ron at the same time.

Once the twins left and slid the compartment door shut behind them, Ron turned to Holly. "Are you really Holly Potter?" he blurted; he seemed as if he had been keeping that in for some time now.

Holly nodded. "Indeed," she said. "And you're Ron Weasley."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes. You've really got—you know—"

"The scar?" Holly finished for him. He seemed to be having some trouble. "Yes." She pointed it out on her forehead.

"So that's where You Know Who—" Ron trailed off, staring at Holly's forehead in astonishment. Holly was nearly as astonished as he was; his entire family, minus the mother and George, seemed to be remarkably ready to openly gawk at people and speak in half-formed sentences.

After a moment Ron must have suddenly realized he was staring, because he quickly turned to look out the window. Holly looked out the window as well; they had passed out of the train station and were beginning to move pasts several rows of fields. To make some polite conversation, and because Ron looked increasingly uncomfortable, Holly asked, "Are all your family wizards?"

"Er—yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"Why not?" Holly asked. Was the stigma from the Dursleys just the same on the other side? It seemed to be so; it all felt rather ridiculous to Holly, who thought it would be nice to have magic to fix your hair in the morning, while it would also be nice for wizards to have television sets and own pens.

Ron looked perplexed. "Well, I don't know," he said. "We just don't." He frowned, as if considering writing a letter home to ask why.

"You must know loads of magic already," Holly realized aloud. Perhaps that boy in Madam Malkin's had been referring to old wizarding families such as the Weasleys. She wondered what the boy would have said had she said her surname was Weasley.

Ron did not affirm or deny this realization. Holly felt increasingly behind. When she reached Hogwarts, she decided, she would put in more work than she had to and learn all the spells and tricks and tips she could. She didn't want to be the best—she wanted to be her best. "I heard you went to live with Muggles," Ron said presently. "What are they like?"

"Oh, they're all very different," said Holly. "They're all people just the same as us. They only have to work a bit harder for things, I suppose. But they have electronics and such. I suppose you'd like that."

"What are electronics?" asked Ron.

"Don't worry about it," said Holly. She thought the boy from Madam Malkin's wouldn't have known what they were either.

"Have you got any cousins or anything?" Ron asked.

Holly nodded. "One cousin," she said. "You seem to have quite a few siblings. Terrible at dinnertime, I suppose?"

Ron nodded back, looking gloomy about it. "I have five brothers," he said. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left—Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

He decided then to withdraw a fat, sleeping gray rat from somewhere inside his coat. "Oh," said Holly, quite at a loss. "That is very unfortunate for you." The rat twitched; she guessed it didn't do much.

"Yeah, it is," said Ron. He was very ready to throw a self-pity party, Holly noticed. "The rat's named Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff—I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron went slightly pink and looked back out the window. Personally Holly only ever liked old-fashioned or vintage things; she couldn't see anything wrong with them. She told Ron this in the hopes of possibly cheering him up. Instead, he gave her a slightly strange look and remarked, "That's kind of weird, for a girl."

Holly decided that Ron was, although not quite rude, not exactly a gentleman. She would have to search elsewhere for one.

She took to reading and attempting to fully memorize her _How to Live Like a Lady_ book. Aunt Petunia's words, Holly had decided, were going to stick with her to the very grave. Other than those heard in church, they were the most important words Holly thought she'd ever heard. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't know if she could go to church while she was at Hogwarts. What on Earth would she do if she couldn't? She was Catholic; she had to go to church every Sunday. And Petunia used to bring her to Confession once a month.

At this startling realization Holly glanced up, intending to ask Ron about it. He was half-asleep staring out the window. Before she could figure out a way to politely wake him up, a loud clanging echoed outside the compartment door. Holly and Ron both looked over; a smiling, dimpled older woman slid open their door. "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Holly set down her book and climbed to her feet. She walked over to see what the cart had to offer. She had already packed herself a lunch, but she figured taking a look couldn't hurt. Ron stayed seated, looking embarrassed out of his wits. Holly decided he needed to be taught how to have confidence in himself even if he felt lost.

The cart was full of a very odd variety of candies. Holly had never heard of any of them before. She went with the safest bets, buying several Chocolate Frogs, Licorice Wands, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. The jelly beans didn't seem safe, but Holly thought they looked interesting enough to buy.

When she returned to her seat Ron still looked immensely awkward. "Hungry, are you?" he asked, as Holly organized her candy beside her on the seat.

"Oh, positively starving," said Holly. She glanced at Ron; he had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four—_four_—sandwiches inside. He looked at them rather sadly.

"She always forgets I don't like corned beef," said Ron.

Holly thought this must have been another unfortunate side-effect of having such a large family. "Well, take this," said Holly, throwing a Chocolate Frog at him. Ron barely managed to catch it.

"Oh, I can't take it," said Ron. "Don't you want it?"

"There's no way I could eat all this," Holly replied.

"Well, all right," said Ron skeptically. "If you say so."

"I certainly say so."

Ron proceeded to mooch off of Holly's offered snacks. Holly ate her own lunch—a turkey sandwich with an apple and a bottle of water—and started in on the Every Flavor Beans. They were incredibly peculiar, and that was putting it nicely.

The Chocolate Frogs had trading cards with famous wizards on them. The wizards all moved around in their pictures. Holly was glad to be able to finally ask someone about that. "Why on Earth do all these photographs move?" Holly asked, staring down at a card that read _Albus Dumbledore_. "Are they like films?"

"I don't know what a film is," said Ron through a mouthful of Licorice Wand, "but the pictures always move. Who've you got?"

"Albus Dumbledore," said Holly. She took a moment to study him; he had long, silver hair, a matching beard, and half-moon spectacles, with bright blue eyes. His nose was long and crooked. He looked very much the way Holly might picture Merlin.

"I forgot, you've never heard of Dumbledore, right?" said Ron. "Hey—can I have a Chocolate Frog? I might get Agrippa."

As Ron ate another Chocolate Frog and complained about not getting Agrippa, Holly turned the _Albus Dumbledore_ card over and read the back:

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Somehow the man managed to sound both terribly dull and fascinatingly intelligent. Holly stowed the card away for later; she thought it might be interesting to know things about the headmaster of Hogwarts before she actually arrived. That way she might not sound so silly for not knowing anything about Quidditch.

Holly decided to ask Ron about the sport. This, she soon discovered, was either the best or worst decision of her life. He spent an entire hour explaining its rules to her. This in itself was boring—but the sport sounded exciting. It sounded like anarchy and madness, to be honest; the rules were odd and convoluted, and it seemed that it might as well be a one-on-one game with the Seekers only. Holly supposed that it wouldn't be nearly as interesting if there weren't that many people out flying over the field.

Just as Ron reached the end of a tirade on the Bulgarian Quidditch team, their compartment door slid open. A round-faced boy Holly was sure she'd spotted earlier was standing there, looking like he was about to cry. "Hello," he said to the floor. "Sorry, but…have you seen a toad at all?"

"No, I haven't," said Holly, while Ron shook his head.

"I've lost him!" the boy suddenly wailed in anguish. "He keeps getting away from me!"

"I'm sure he'll turn up," Holly said encouragingly. "Toads can't wander that far, can they? Maybe you should look back where you started—he might have come back. Some animals do that, you know."

The boy sniffed. "Maybe," he said, back to mumbling. "Well, if you see him…" He left, barely managing to shut the compartment door behind himself.

Holly looked down at the box of jelly beans in her hand. She thought perhaps she ought to join the poor boy in the search. Ron said, "Don't know why he's so bothered. If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

"He might have had that toad for as long as he could remember," Holly pointed out. She was rather offended by Ron's apparent carelessness about animals. "Even if I owned Scabbers I'd be attached to him."

Ron looked like he didn't know quite what to say. Fortunately the compartment door slid open yet again. Holly wasn't sure whether she was beginning to get irritated with all the interruptions or not; at least they provided something interesting. "Has anyone seen a toad?" asked the girl in the doorway. "Neville's lost one."

Holly was sure she'd seen her before, perhaps in Diagon Alley. She had unmistakable bushy brown hair; she also had a splash of freckles across her face, and rather large front teeth. She sounded important, like her business ought to be everyone's business, or maybe like she was in the middle of a public service announcement. She was already wearing her robes.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron.

"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," said the girl. "Who're you?"

"I'm Ron Weasley," said Ron. He looked vaguely annoyed.

"Holly Potter," said Holly. She smiled at the girl. "How do you do?"

Hermione glanced at her in surprise. "Are you really?" she asked. Holly pointed at the scar on her forehead. "Oh, I know all about you, of course," Hermione continued. She was speaking at break-neck speed. "I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I really?" Holly asked, startled. "I bought several books for background reading as well, but I suppose I haven't bought the right ones."

"Oh, goodness, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, I'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

"Goodbye," Holly managed to say before Hermione whipped off like a shot, probably to catch up with poor Neville of the lost toad.

Ron and Holly looked at each other. Ron looked torn between irritable and disgusted. "Whatever house I'm in," he said darkly, "I hope she's not in it."

"There's no need to be rude," said Holly. Ron scowled at her. "What house are your brothers in?" she asked, for a subject change.

"Gryffindor," Ron replied. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"At least they're all very ambitious in Slytherin," Holly said. "You'd be bound to go somewhere."

"Yeah, straight to the Dark side," Ron muttered.

Holly raised her eyebrows, but Ron seemed to know what she would say before she said it. "You know," Ron said with some disbelief, "you're very obsessed with being polite and whatnot."

"My aunt raised me to be a proper lady," said Holly, straightening up.

"It kind of reminds me of that Granger girl," Ron added distastefully.

Holly decided that whatever house Ron was in, she didn't want to be in it. The most likely possibility was that Ron was going to be in Gryffindor; she couldn't see any selfless aspect to him, but she supposed he was rather brave. He wasn't scared and timid like poor Neville was, at least.

Hermione, Holly supposed, would go straight to Ravenclaw; it was for the competitive, intelligent people, after all. And that blond boy from Madam Malkin's would be in Slytherin with other ambitious, clever people. Holly wondered if that boy had the capability of being clever or ambitious; she privately thought that as he was, he wouldn't get very far, being so pointlessly rude with everyone. Maybe he would be in Gryffindor, she conjectured. He was brave enough to speak up to her after all.

There were several long moments of silence, during which Ron crunched unhappily on his last Licorice Wand and Holly took up her book again. Hedwig hooted from where her cage sat a few feet down from Holly.

Yet again the compartment door slid open. Holly was already putting her bookmark in her book; if it was about the toad, she'd decided, she'd get up and help. There were three boys this time, and the one in the middle was the blond boy from Madam Malkin's. The two boys on either side of him looked like henchmen, all thick necked and muscular even for eleven.

This time the boy didn't look bored by Holly's presence; in fact, he was looking at her with interest. "Is it true?" he asked. "They're saying all down the train that Holly Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Well, yes," said Holly. The boy was quite straightforward. "How do you do?"

"Fine, and you?" said the boy.

_Oh, good,_ Holly thought, delighted. At least he had some manners now. "Fine," she replied.

"When I met you in Diagon Alley I thought you might be a Black," said the boy, as if this meant something. "Anyway, this is Crabbe and Goyle." He gestured to the two boys standing behind him. "And I'm Malfoy—Draco Malfoy."

He seemed to think surnames were so important that they had to come first. Holly considered remarking on this; but Ron snickered and quickly tried to disguise it as a laugh. Holly glanced at him, unsurprised by his rudeness: it was in the family. Draco—Holly supposed she should probably think of him as Malfoy, he might like that better—glanced over at him, offended.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" he demanded. "No need to ask who _you_ are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Holly frowned. The boy had just gotten extremely dull again. _How predictable,_ she thought. She should have known Malfoy would slip into his old Madam Malkin's ways. "Now, neither of you have any need to be so impolite," Holly said. "Ron, your last name is Weasley, and I've met a man named Rubeus; there is no need to laugh at a name like Draco. In fact, I think it's the name of a constellation."

She looked toward Malfoy, who looked rather like a preening peacock. "Malfoy, you have such a short temper that I will be surprised if you _are_ put in Slytherin. Honestly, if you were clever or cunning, wouldn't you keep offenses to yourself until the right moment? In fact, oughtn't you just say nothing about them?"

Ron looked abashed. Crabbe and Goyle were staring at her as if she had three heads. Draco sneered at her. "What do you know about Slytherin? Didn't you grow up with Muggles?"

"Well, yes," said Holly, "but that is no impediment, as you seem to be implying. I asked for more information on the school before deciding to attend."

"What, were you invited somewhere else?" asked Malfoy. He was trying to sound angry, but he also looked genuinely interested. "My father said that Durmstrang wanted me, but I ended up here."

Holly shrugged. "To be honest it is not your business," she remarked.

"I bet Beauxbatons wanted you," said Ron.

Holly wished that were true; she remembered Beauxbatons as having been in France. She'd always wanted to go to France. "What house d'you think you'll be in?" Malfoy asked her. He barely spared Ron half a side-glance. "You'll be in Gryffindor, I expect."

Secretly Holly was rather pleased; at least Ron had had even the rudest of boys confirm what he wanted to know. "I don't know," Holly admitted.

"You seem like a Ravenclaw," said Draco. "All excited about manners and spreading knowledge, or whatever."

Holly wasn't sure about this; she knew both of those things were true, but Hermione Granger still struck her as a Ravenclaw, and she knew she wasn't much like Hermione Granger. Or, at least, she thought she knew. "Maybe," said Holly. She noticed none of the three boys in the door were in their robes yet. "Aren't we stopping soon?"

"Yes, probably," said Malfoy. "I suppose I'll see you during classes."

"Have a good evening," Holly said, as the three boys trooped back out.

"You too," said Draco a little skeptically, like he wasn't even sure if he meant it. He slid the compartment door shut, though, and went along his way, Crabbe and Goyle trailing along after him.

Ron finally laughed. "What a weirdo," he said, shaking his head. Then he glanced down and reddened. "Er—I'd better change somewhere else."

"Yes, you'd better," Holly agreed absently.

Soon the arrangements had been settled—Holly just went to the water-closet to change, while Ron remained in the compartment. She took her time wandering back, hoping Ron would be finished by the time she arrived. On her way she spotted the Weasley twins and the boy with dreadlocks from before; their compartment door was wide open, and they were all alternately shrieking and laughing.

Holly paused to peek inside. There was a massive tarantula crawling around on the floor. She snickered at Fred's expression of terror and moved on before any of them could look out and see it was her.

Back in she and Ron's compartment, Holly began to pack her things away. She tossed out the trash in a rubbish bin and helped Ron put away his things as well. Soon she paused to look out the window; it was evening now, and the sky was a lovely shade of midnight blue. Holly could see trees and stars silhouetted against it.

A voice echoed throughout the train. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

Holly was glad she'd written her name on her things. She kept her purse with her and told Hedwig not to be afraid; then she sat there and waited, almost buzzing inside with nervous energy. She and Ron left the compartment together, when they noticed people beginning to queue up in the corridor outside.

The train stopped while everyone was still standing, rather smushed together, outside in the hallway. "Is it a castle?" Holly leaned back to ask Ron. "Hogwarts, I mean?"

"Yeah," said Ron, looking confused. "You didn't know?"

"Not until a moment ago," Holly replied.

A boy who looked about their age twisted around. He was tan, and had wavy brown hair. Holly thought he was rather good-looking. "Excuse me, but I overheard your conversation," he said. "Couldn't help it—we're all so crowded in. Are you a Muggleborn?"

Holly was also rather pleased with his manners. "Not technically, no; I was raised by Muggles."

"Oh, how peculiar," said the boy. Holly thought she had found a like-minded soul. "Hang on—are you Holly Potter?"

Holly nodded.

"Interesting," the boy said, like she was a specimen for observation. He didn't, however, openly gape at her. A couple of other nearby students turned to take over the job for him. "I'm Anthony Goldstein."

"How do you do?" said Holly.

Anthony smiled at her. Before the conversation could continue, though, everyone nearby them began to pour back out of the train and onto another platform. "See you around," Anthony called back, as he and a few other boys hurried off the train. Holly waved at him and then joined the flow of the crowd exiting onto the platform.

The platform was tiny, too, and it was dark and cold outside. Holly rubbed her arms for warmth. Ron stood somewhat nearby, looking awkward. For a moment it was merely dark; Holly looked up to study the clear night sky overhead, looking at the twinkling yellow-white stars. Then a bobbing lamp appeared to their right.

"Firs' years!" shouted a familiar voice. "Firs' years over here!" Hagrid's large, hairy face loomed out of seemingly nowhere; he smiled at her. "All right there, Holly?"

"Yes, thank you," Holly chirped back.

Hagrid turned to start leading the way off the platform. He glanced back to call, "C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

"D'you know that man?" Ron asked Holly. "Is that Hagrid?"

Holly nodded.

"Fred's told me stories about him," Ron said. Holly wanted to tell him that the stories were all probably wrong, but she didn't want to be rude—or unfair; perhaps she and Fred had merely gotten off on the wrong foot.

It was much too dark to clearly see where anyone was going. Holly focused on the back of a blonde girl's head and followed that. The entirety of the first years went mostly silent; when Holly glanced over, she thought she saw poor Neville. He sniffled several times.

"Yeh'll all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid fairly shouted to them all, "jus' round this bend here."

The path suddenly became a shore on the edge of a massive dark lake. The first years all stopped; there was a magnificent castle with the windows lit by candles in the near distance, looming right over the lake, opposite the shore. The castle was huge, with all sorts of towers poking up into the sky. There was a chorus of pleased and surprised "Ohs" from all around.

There was a fleet of little boats bobbing in the water near the shore. "No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, gesturing at the boats with his lantern. Holly walked over to a boat and ended up in one with Ron, Neville, and Hermione by complete incident. Once the first years had all found boats to occupy, and there was no one left on the shore, Hagrid yelled, "Everyone in? Right then—forward!"

The boats all started off together, heading for the castle. Still, nobody spoke. There was too much to look at, even in the dark. Holly stared at the glistening lakewater, wanting to reach out and skim it with her fingers—but she also figured they would be eating dinner soon, and she wasn't sure if they'd be allowed to wash their hands. You never knew with wizards.

They sailed straight toward the cliff upon which the castle—Hogwarts—rested. "Heads down!" Hagrid shouted when the first few boats reached the cliff. There was a curtain of ivy that they all sailed through. The boats brought them through a gray tunnel of rock until they reached another small shore. This one was made of pebbles.

Together everyone climbed out onto this new shore. Hagrid checked all the boats as people climbed out of them, perhaps making sure they hadn't brought their luggage with them, or maybe trying to see that everyone was indeed getting out. At one point he said, "Oi, you there!" He seemed to be speaking to Neville, who was two people away from Holly. "Is this your toad?" He held up the poor lost creature.

"Trevor!" Neville exclaimed, holding out his hands. Hagrid handed him the toad. Holly smiled; she hoped Hedwig was all right, wherever she was now.

Hagrid led them all up a flight of stone steps from the rocky shore; then they reached the edge of a generous grassy lawn. They were almost directly in front of the castle. Holly was in awe of its beauty as they all approached it together. It looked very much like the windows were stars themselves, Holly thought.

There was another small flight of steps. They all halted outside the huge oak front doors. "Everyone here?" Hagrid asked, raising his lantern to look around. "You there—still got yer toad?"

Neville nodded happily.

Hagrid turned and knocked on the castle door.


	6. the sorting

**a/n;** Hello all! Thanks yet again for reading! :3 All right, so I edited a few things here, such as getting ties upon going to your new dormitory, and having more than one room for each year. I've slightly expanded the size of Hogwarts' student body. Now, without further ado, enjoy! :)

**disclaimer;** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

**the fabulously vintage world of holly potter**

* * *

—_sixth: the sorting_

Almost immediately the door swung open, and a tall, regal-looking woman in emerald green robes stepped outside. She looked stern and angry already. Holly surmised she must have been tired. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

_Oh!_ So this was the woman Holly had been pestering the second half of the summer. Holly hoped she thought curiosity in students was good. "Thank you, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall. Holly hadn't realized she was a professor as well as Deputy Headmistress. "I will take them from here."

Indeed, she pushed open the other door, and then led them into the entrance hall. It was so entirely huge that Holly couldn't even begin to think of how to describe it. _Illustrious_ came to mind. So did _illogical_, when she saw how elephantine the nearest staircase was.

There were flaming torches at intervals along the walls, and four large glass vials standing to the right. There were also a variety of armored knights placed about. Holly was most curious about the vials; she wanted to know what on Earth you put in things that large. Instead of asking, though, she followed along as the rest of her classmates trailed after Professor McGonagall, past more massive oak doors (behind which the rest of the students had to have been chattering) and into a smaller room.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, once all of them were situated in the room. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

_No wonder all the houses are so prejudiced against each other,_ Holly thought, _if none of them are allowed to fraternize with the others._

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin," Professor McGonagall continued. "Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She seemed to look right at Ron, who still—_still!_—had that smudge of dirt on his nose. "I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

With that she exited the room. After a few seconds, the first years turned to begin to talk amongst themselves. "How do they sort us into houses?" Holly asked the people nearest to her.

Ron was the one who answered. He looked so nervous he might pass out. "Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

"It's only trying on a hat," cut in Hermione Granger. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

Ron turned to Holly, looking pained. Holly shrugged at him.

A second later everyone leapt about a foot into the air: twenty or so ghosts had just come right through the back wall. They were all slightly transparent, but still quite visible. Even more shocking was the fact that they were all chatting casually amongst themselves, barely even sparing glances at the terrified first years. Holly watched in complete fascination. She decided to assume from then on that every magical creature or thing she'd ever heard of was real.

One of the ghosts seemed to notice them, because he stopped talking and pointed. He was sporting some sort of medieval clothing. "I say," he said loudly. "What are you all doing here?"

Holly thought Neville whimpered. When nobody said anything, Holly offered, "We are about to be sorted. How do you do?"

Everyone—literally everyone—turned to look at her in amazement. "We are very fine, thank you!" said a fat little ghost. He looked like a monk. "Oh, all these new students! Look at them, Nick—" He seemed to be talking to the medieval ghost from before.

"Ah, yes," said Nick almost fondly.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the monk ghost. "My old house, you know."

Holly could have sworn she heard someone snort, and she could have also sworn that it was Draco Malfoy. Personally she rather liked the monk. He was very friendly and seemed quite sweet. "Move along, now," Professor McGonagall said suddenly, sharply, from the doorway. "The Sorting ceremony's about to start."

The ghosts all took several more looks around at the first years before turning and floating away through another wall. The monk ghost waved as he went.

"Now, form a line," said Professor McGonagall, "and follow me."

The first years obeyed in fearful silence. They left the smaller room, reentered the entrance hall, and then walked through the grand double-doors into the Great Hall.

If Holly had thought anything about this castle before now was absurd, it was nothing compared to the Great Hall. It was so large that Holly imagined it could have fitted several elephants inside. There were thousands of candles floating high above, near the ceiling; and was it even a ceiling? It showed a wonderfully clear starry night sky. All around them were four long tables, at which the rest of the six hundred students were seated. They were all staring at the first years as they walked down the center aisle, and they all had golden plates and silverware and goblets before them.

There was another long table at the end of the Great Hall, where the professors were sitting. In the largest chair—that looked rather like a throne—there sat the man from Holly's Chocolate Frog card, Albus Dumbledore. He looked extremely blissful.

The first years all halted. Neville bumped into someone and whispered a quick apology. Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the line, beside a wooden stool. Upon that stool there sat a very ragged hat.

For a second there was silence. Holly peeked around at the rest of the students—they were all staring at the hat now. She turned to look at the hat too, half-expecting it to be on fire. Then a rip near its brim opened and it sang:

_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart;_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart._

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal;_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil._

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning_

_Will always find their kind._

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends;_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

Once finished, the rip fell back down again. The entire Great Hall burst into applause. Holly clapped enthusiastically along with them. _How curious!_ she thought cheerfully. _How peculiar!_ She'd never once dreamed she'd ever see such a thing as a singing hat.

"I'm really going to kill Fred," Ron muttered behind Holly. "He was going on about wrestling a troll."

Holly snickered at the mental image as the applause died down. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding up a roll of parchment. "When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said regally, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." She didn't even pause before calling, "Abbott, Hannah!"

A blonde girl hurried forward. She looked flushed and nervous. She put on the hat and sat down; the hat fell right over her eyes. After a second of tense silence, the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

_There,_ Holly thought, as a table to their right and closest to the wall cheered. _She didn't seem so bad._ Holly didn't doubt that Draco Malfoy was jeering silently at the poor girl, though. Holly was starting to think that Malfoy might fit in Slytherin after all, if he was willing to use any means to achieve his ends.

She also wondered a little about Ron—she didn't particularly recall any instants of chivalry from him, but then again, Fred had been sorted in Gryffindor, hadn't he?

"Bones, Susan!" was the next girl to go. She went into Hufflepuff as well, and walked over to sit beside Hannah. Then there was "Boot, Terry!" who went to Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw was at the table directly to their left. "Brocklehurst, Mandy!" joined Terry. "Brown, Lavender!" went to Gryffindor, the table directly to their right. It was the loudest table so far, and there were even a few catcalls.

"Bulstrode, Millicent!" was the first Slytherin; that was the table furthest to the left, past the Ravenclaws. They didn't look any different from anyone else, either, Holly noted. She was beginning to grow a little nervous herself: she had no idea which house she wanted to be in.

The roll went on and the names were called. "Goldstein, Anthony!" went to Ravenclaw, followed shortly by "Granger, Hermione," who also went to Ravenclaw. Holly thought it made perfect sense.

"Longbottom, Neville!" was, to everyone's surprise, sent to Gryffindor. Holly supposed that someday the poor boy would probably make something great of himself, and she hoped to see the day he would. She was very interested in peoples' stories. She suspected Neville would have an intriguing one in the future.

"Malfoy, Draco!" went straight to Slytherin; the hat barely touched his head. Holly thought he had to have some ambition or cunning in there somewhere. She wondered if the Sorting Hat could see the future as well as read minds.

When "Potter, Holly!" was called, the rest of the Great Hall began to whisper. Holly kept her head held high and strode forward to the stool with confidence, even though she felt quite nervous inside. She settled onto the stool and she imagined Professor McGonagall shot her a tiny smirk of a smile before dropping the Sorting Hat onto her head.

The hat didn't fit her head at all, and she was shrouded mostly by darkness. The hat was so worn she could kind of see the light of the Great Hall seeping through it. "Hmm," said a small voice in her ear; it sounded a little as though it was even inside her head. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Always indignant. A good mind, too—and a desire for spreading knowledge. There's talent, my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now, that's interesting… Oh, but such loyalty, determination—ambition—a desire for equality… Hmm…very interesting… Now where shall I put you?"

Holly shifted around in her seat. _What are the options?_ she thought, hoping the Hat was open to discussion. _What are my best choices, do you think?_

"What are your best choices? Well—your thirst for knowledge almost counters your thirst for greatness…"

Holly decided that the Hat must have been deliberating between Ravenclaw and another house. She thought at this point that she would have liked to be in any of them and she just sat there, waiting.

"…But it is your dedication to the work getting there that I see the most. In that case, it'd better be HUFFLEPUFF!"

_Thank you, Mr. Hat,_ Holly thought, as she stood up and removed the hat from her head. She was, she realized, getting the loudest cheer yet—although some of the other houses were full of students exchanging glances and muttering to each other. Holly walked over to join the Hufflepuff table, where the majority of them were in a standing ovation.

Holly sat down by Ernie Macmillan and Wayne Hopkins. She could see Susan Bones across the table. They all smiled at her and she smiled back, feeling right at home; then they all turned to watch the rest of the Sorting. They were joined by Jackson Rhodes, Oliver Rivers, Leanne Rothbury, and Melody Watson. Then "Weasley, Ron!" was sorted into Gryffindor. Holly was glad Ron had gotten where he wanted to go.

The last of them all was "Zabini, Blaise!" He was a tall black boy who went to Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away, off to another chamber off the hall behind the professors' table.

The headmaster stood and beamed around at everyone. They all went quiet, waiting for him to say something. "Welcome," he said. His voice echoed around the Great Hall. It was lively and bright, not at all what Holly had expected from such an old man. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

With that, he sat back down. The Great Hall all clapped and cheered. Holly let out a laugh of disbelief. "How peculiar," she remarked aloud to nobody in particular. Ernie laughed in agreement.

Holly turned back around and saw, to her astonishment, food had appeared on the table. There were dishes and dishes of all sorts of foods, and many pitchers full of a variety of drinks. Holly was momentarily overwhelmed; but soon enough she was piling her plate high with drumsticks and mashed potatoes and discussing the best fruit juices with Ernie.

Partway into dinner, Ernie said, "Now—I know I've got to ask this, somebody will—you're really Holly Potter, eh? Got the scar and everything?"

Holly nodded and gestured at her forehead; her mouth was full.

"Wicked," said Wayne Hopkins from across the table. He was looking at her scar, starry-eyed. "I can't believe you defeated a Dark wizard. And you were only one!"

Holly swallowed. "Personally I can't believe it either," she admitted. "I don't even remember any of it. It's all very strange, really."

"I bet it sure is," remarked Jackson Rhodes.

"Has anyone ever asked for an autograph?" Leanne Rothbury asked shyly.

Holly shook her head. "No, but all sorts of wizards keep wanting to shake my hand."

Quite abruptly Ernie stopped and turned toward Holly. "Excuse me," he said, grabbing her shoulder like he was about to say something life-changing, "but…may I shake your hand?" He laughed, turning back around. Holly couldn't help but laugh with him—his expression had been utterly ridiculous, and startlingly reminiscent of a woman from the Leaky Cauldron. The others around laughed too, and the conversation changed topic again.

When everyone began to complain about how full they were feeling, the dishes all changed again. This time they were filled with desserts. Holly spotted an apple pie and groaned. "What is it?" Ernie asked her, raising his eyebrows.

"Give me that apple pie," Holly joked, shaking her head. "Just give me the whole thing right now."

They all ate more dessert than they felt they could handle; then the complaints about stomachaches were actually real. Holly listened to the discussion turn to families. Ernie had nine generations of witches and wizards in his family. Wayne was a half-blood, as were both Jackson and Leanne. Susan was from another family with a lot of generations of witches and wizards. Holly felt a little lost; were they tracing back by fathers, mothers, or both?

She turned around to look at the rest of the Great Hall. Ron was talking animatedly with a black boy and a dark-haired one at the Gryffindor table. Hermione Granger looked like she was sharing important information with a couple of girls at the Ravenclaw one; everyone was nodding interestedly, obviously listening. Malfoy was looking around the Great Hall, too.

The teachers at the table at the end of the hall were talking amongst themselves. Holly found Professor Quirrell in his purple turban. He was speaking with a pale teacher who had stringy dark hair. The dark-haired teacher seemed to have a permanent scowl or sneer on his face: Holly couldn't tell which.

Abruptly the teacher looked up and straight at Holly. In that instant, for the first time since Holly could remember, a shot of pain flickered through her scar. She winced and clapped her hand to her forehead.

"What is it?" asked Jackson.

"Nothing," said Holly, who thought the entire encounter too bizarre to repeat at the moment. "I think I'm getting a bit of a headache."

"That's too bad," said Jackson. "It's probably all the noise."

Holly chanced another peek back at the odd professor; he'd returned to his evidently harrowing conversation with Professor Quirrell. She couldn't shake the feeling that the professor knew her somehow.

After a short while, the desserts disappeared. Holly was starting to feel rather sleepy; she supposed it was about time, having woken up at five o'clock that morning. Her last bike ride on Privet Drive felt years ago, not only hours past. She couldn't wait to see what else Hogwarts would bring.

Professor Dumbledore stood up to give another speech. Holly hoped it would be more informative than the last. "Ahem," he said, even though the Great Hall had already fallen silent, "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

A few students laughed awkwardly, like they didn't know whether he was joking or not. Professor Dumbledore, however, looked deadly serious. Holly exchanged a glance with Ernie.

Then, in an apparent non sequitur, Professor Dumbledore burst, "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" He flicked his wand, and a long golden ribbon burst from the end. It floated up overhead and formed into words: lyrics, evidently. "Everyone pick their favorite tune," the headmaster said, "and off we go!"

Holly sang along as best she could to the Moonlight Sonata. The lyrics of the school song read:

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With something interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot._

The Weasley twins were soon left the last ones singing, as they were singing along to a very slow funeral march. Professor Dumbledore pretended to conduct their last lines with his wand. When they finished, everyone clapped; Professor Dumbledore wiped his eyes. "Ah, music," he called to the Great Hall. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Holly and the rest of the Hufflepuffs in her year were told to follow a prefect—who introduced herself as Mindy Santos—to their dormitory. Mindy had pristine flowing black hair. Holly wanted to know how on Earth she'd gotten it to look so good.

Mindy led them back out into the entrance hall, and then to a door hidden just on the edge of the marble staircase. There was another door on the other side where it seemed Slytherins were entering. However, when Holly walked into the Hufflepuff door, the Slytherins were nowhere to be found.

They all wandered together along a lovely torch-lit passageway. They passed various portraits of fruit, one of which Mindy pointed out as the entrance to the kitchens. They entered another passage and took a small flight of stairs down. Then, upon the choice between three doors, they took the one furthest to the right.

Inside this door was a storage room. There were barrels stacked up everywhere. "Everyone in?" Mindy asked, when Hannah Abbott had entered last. "Close the door behind you, now."

Hannah obeyed and shut the door. Then she turned to listen.

"Now, this is very important," said Mindy. "You see this barrel right here?" she pointed; everyone craned their necks to look. "Make sure you remember the markings. It's the entrance to the dormitory."

_How?_ Holly wondered.

Mindy went on to explain: "It changes position whenever you come in here. In order to get the barrel to open, you have to tap the correct rhythm on the front—like this—" she proceeded to demonstrate. "It's the syllables in the name 'Helga Hufflepuff.' She was our founder at Hogwarts."

The barrel swung open; quite suddenly its mouth seemed much wider than before. "And now we can all enter," said Mindy brightly. "Come along, then." She led the way into the barrel.

Once they were all inside and heading down a short tunnel, Holly glanced back. The barrel entrance seemed to have closed on its own. _How odd,_ Holly thought. She looked ahead again and nearly tripped into what had to be the dormitory.

It was a large, circular room made of stone. There were long windows high on the walls, showing off the deep blue night sky. There were several tapestries hung about and a large fireplace in the center of the room. There was a door to the right and a door to the left. Mindy pointed out the one on the right as leading to the girls' dormitory and the one on the left as leading to the boys'. "Now, remember," she said, "if a boy tries to get into the girls' dormitory, the door won't open, no matter how hard you try."

"Can the girls get into the boys' dormitory?" asked Alexis O'Connell curiously.

"Yes, but we'd like to be able to trust at least one of the sexes," Mindy replied, giving Alexis a stern look. Alexis giggled nervously.

Mindy told them that it was the end of the tour then, and that they had to be down at the Great Hall the next morning by seven-thirty for breakfast and their timetables. Then she walked over to sit down in a cushy plaid armchair.

The first years all looked round at each other for a moment. "Well, I'll see you lot tomorrow, then," Ernie announced. "Goodnight." He turned and walked over to the entrance to the boys' dormitory, afterwards disappearing inside.

Everyone followed his lead, bidding goodnight to the others and heading in for bed. Holly walked into the girls' dormitory after Hannah and Susan. The entrance led to another short hallway; there were several doors off of it, all marked with different numbers and presumably different years. There were some years with multiple doors.

The first years had two dorm rooms. There were about seven girls in the first and, presumably, about seven in the second. Holly found her things in the second room, set up by the bed closest to a door that led to the bathroom. She was grateful for this small kindness: she'd be able to jump up and steal the bathroom first in the morning.

Hedwig was nowhere to be seen. Holly swung open her trunk to make sure all her things were in their right places. She dug out what she planned on wearing the following morning and settled it all on her nightstand between her bed and the wall. Holly found two gold-and-black ties on the footboard of her bed and put one with her uniform.

Holly changed into her sleeping clothes and then looked round. She was in a dormitory with Leanne Rothbury, Melody Watson, Alexis O'Connell, Kate Stanton, Caroline Redding, and Jenny Travan. Jenny was on the bed to Holly's right, and Melody was directly across from her.

The beds were four-poster, with golden hangings. Holly organized her favorite books on her nightstand under her uniform and pulled out her Bible to read a few verses before crawling into bed. She was exhausted; she only hoped someone would be able to wake her up in time tomorrow.


	7. how to start off on the wrong foot

**a/n;** Thanks everyone for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Sorry about the lateness; at first I was lazy, and then I had to get stitches in my tongue. Long story. Just be very careful when you're numbed at the dentist. Enjoy!

**disclaimer;** I don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

**the fabulously vintage world of holly potter**

* * *

—_seventh: how to start off on the wrong foot_

Holly found herself followed by whispers the second she stepped into the entrance hall the next day. She had been met by an onslaught of people just outside her dormitory as well, but the Hufflepuffs were all well-mannered enough to step up and start a conversation with her, not point and whisper behind their hands to each other the way everyone else seemed to do.

Holly walked to the Great Hall with Oliver Rivers and Melody Watson. Oliver was vaguely Hispanic and already tall; he had curly black hair that he kept mostly tamed and dark eyes. He was friendly and talkative and ever so polite: he was, in fact, a perfect gentleman. Holly was glad to know him. She thought she'd like to have him as a friend.

Melody was short and tan, with a cute button nose and big green eyes. She had auburn hair that was in a perpetual messy bun, and she wore black-framed glasses. Holly wondered if Melody could get her eyes fixed magically. Melody didn't seem to mind, though. She was happy to tag along with Holly and Oliver and chat with them about the various strange Hogwarts sightings as they went.

Holly was grateful for this two-people cover when she entered the Great Hall, because nearly everyone turned to look at her. "Oh, what on Earth," said Oliver rather loudly, staring right back at everyone. Melody giggled and Holly shot Oliver a thankful smile. "I don't know about these people," Oliver said gravely, leading the way over to the Hufflepuff table for breakfast. "You'd think they'd never seen a redhead before."

Throughout breakfast the three of them discussed their timetables; they were all exactly the same. "How odd," Holly remarked, leaning over to look at Melody's schedule. "You're right, they really are precisely the same."

Ernie Macmillan chose that moment to sit down beside Holly. "I bet you mine's different," he said, reaching for a pitcher of orange juice. As he poured himself a goblet, he continued: "It seems to me that they've separated us out by our surnames."

Holly wondered why surnames were so bloody important to the wizarding world. It was unfathomable and childish. Anyone could have lied about what their surname was and everyone else would have thought they were important. All this fuss about names was making Holly increasingly frustrated; but she kept this to herself, as she knew bringing it up would do nothing.

So Holly found herself setting off to class with her two new friends, Oliver and Melody. They had to figure out how to navigate the corridors and the staircases themselves. As they climbed up the marble stairs and tried to decide where to go on the directions of a Ravenclaw prefect they'd just asked, Holly looked about and wondered how on Earth anything was organized here.

There were portraits everywhere that could have been landmarks, but they all moved and switched places. The frames themselves never moved, but the figures inside them could be found cavorting about all over the castle. This was made even worse because the stairs moved as well. You could be heading upstairs to the right one next and then suddenly be turning to the left without meaning to.

The building, Holly had decided, was sentient. It was a trickster sort of building; perfect for the Weasley twins, she imagined. She also amused herself by considering what Dudley might have done trying to make his way around in this place. Probably given up and had a temper tantrum on one of the moving staircases, she supposed. He also probably would have been told off by the caretaker, Mr. Filch.

Mr. Filch was as filthy as his name suggested. _Those damn names again,_ Holly thought as it occurred to her. Once, that very first morning, he found all of Holly, Oliver, and Melody trying to force their way through a mysteriously locked door; they'd all thought that the rest of the building was weird enough, why not have a class through an impassable door? As it turned out the door actually led to the out of bounds third floor corridor.

The ghosts might have helped you along—if you found the right ghost. There was one particularly annoying poltergeist named Peeves who actively tried to steer first years off course. In fact, he seemed to take great pleasure in hurling small items at them; Holly and Melody were rushing down to the Great Hall on Wednesday morning of their first week, both rather afraid they'd be late, when Peeves had popped up out of nowhere on the hall with the kitchens and started hurling inkwells at them and cackling maniacally as he did.

On Wednesday nights they had astronomy, which Holly wished would only be once a month, as it was entirely exhausting. They had it at midnight: Holly couldn't be sure whether it was a better idea to try and get some sleep before class and show up still tired or just go to class without having had any sleep at all. She supposed she'd soon find out for herself.

They also had Herbology, which was as uninteresting a subject as Holly had ever taken. Oliver seemed to like it for unknown reasons. At least their professor was wonderful: Professor Pomona Sprout, the head of Hufflepuff. She was very pleasant and kind and ready to help anyone who really had no idea what they were doing.

Holly's favorite class thus far was a toss-up between Transfiguration and History of Magic. Transfiguration was taught by Professor McGonagall. She was very strict, but seemed to like it when students asked astute questions. On the other hand, she seemed even sterner than usual when students asked obtuse questions, such as ones that required her to repeat something she'd said only a moment ago.

Transfiguration itself was an incredibly intriguing topic. It involved the changing of objects into other objects, and sometimes even the changing of animals into objects—or, in the case of Professor McGonagall herself, the changing of people into animals and vice versa. Professor McGonagall could turn herself into a gray tabby cat and back again before you could blink and figure out what had happened.

History of Magic was taught by a professor who was much less interesting than Professor McGonagall. Professor Binns was the only ghost professor, as far as Holly knew, and he had a very dry, monotone voice. The subject, though, was something Holly adored: history. She'd always loved learning about how people used to live. She loved knowing when the first printing press was made and how much gasoline used to cost in the 1940s. All the little details about society and standards of living just seemed so _interesting_. Professor Binns was a ghost, too, which meant that he had been around for a very long time, and likely knew all sorts of little tidbits about different eras of history.

Charms was another class Holly liked, because it was more fun than anything. Professor Flitwick taught it; he was a cute little elderly wizard who had to stand on a stack of books to address the class. The spells he taught them were fun and Holly thought she might like to show a few of them to Aunt Petunia, if she were allowed.

The only class Holly disliked was Defense Against the Dark Arts. This was rather absurd, considering she was, apparently, in three anti-Dark books herself. Professor Quirrell stammered all over the place and although he seemed at least vaguely knowledgeable he did not seem competent enough to actually give the students the information. His classroom also always smelled strongly of garlic.

There were a variety of rumors about the peculiar Professor Quirrell. The most popular one by far was that he had been attacked by vampires in Albania and had never gotten over it. He tried to ward them off now by stuffing garlic into his purple turban. It was true: Holly had never seen him without it. In fact, she'd never seen any hair peeking out of it, either, so he must have been bald. Maybe he was self-conscious, or perhaps it had something to do with his religion.

Religion brought up another point that Holly disliked. Directly after one of her Transfiguration classes Holly approached Professor McGonagall to ask her a question. She glanced back to wave Oliver and Melody on before turning toward Professor McGonagall, who was eyeing her curiously. "I'm sorry, Professor," said Holly, "but I've had a question at the back of my mind for several days."

"Yes, Ms. Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"How shall any of us get to church?" Holly inquired. "I don't know about anyone else, but personally I am Catholic, and I should like to go to Mass every Sunday if it is possible." She thought she could ask about a piano and a ballet studio later.

"Well," said Professor McGonagall, "I think there is a group that goes to a church in Hogsmeade Village on Sundays." She frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure first years are allowed. Usually students aren't allowed to visit Hogsmeade until third year."

"Mass is very important to me, Professor," Holly said.

"Well, yes, I can understand why," Professor McGonagall answered. "I suppose you can speak with the leader of the group yourself and find out—you'll have to talk to Jeremy Stretton. He's a sixth year Ravenclaw."

"Thank you very much, Professor," Holly said, flashing Professor McGonagall a smile. "Have a good afternoon!"

"The same to you, Ms. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, as Holly turned and strode back out of the Transfiguration classroom.

Holly was quite looking forward to Friday. She'd always loved Fridays; people were usually more relaxed those days, looking forward to the weekend. She knew she was looking forward to the weekend: she'd finally have a chance to sit down and finish writing a letter to Aunt Petunia she'd started penning two days ago. She'd gotten lost so often in this senselessly organized castle that she'd lost quite a few hours wandering around, feeling increasingly dense.

Another thing that Holly never thought she would ever think was normal was the usual swooping in of the owls at breakfast. They all came in and dropped off packages for their owners. Holly had gotten a book from home wrapped in brown paper—a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. There was a little note inside from Aunt Petunia, reminding her of her advice and telling her that this would be a potentially difficult but altogether rewarding read. It was also set in the Regency historical era, which was one of Holly's favorites, besides the 1920s and the French Revolution.

On Friday morning Holly received another little note. Hedwig flew in and landed on the table right beside Holly's plate. "Well, good morning," Holly said fondly to the owl, rubbing Hedwig's head. "What have you got this morning?"

"You get all sorts of things," remarked Oliver. "I haven't gotten anything yet."

"This is only my second item," Holly replied. "Don't look at the Slytherin or Gryffindor tables—their parents or relatives must all shower them with affection at all times when they're home."

It was true; everyone at those tables always seemed to have a smattering of gifts. Holly had noticed Draco Malfoy receiving four just this week, which she thought was somewhat foolish. Then she realized he probably missed home and made time to write often.

This time Hedwig had brought Holly a letter. It read in somewhat messy handwriting:

_Dear Holly,_

_I know you get Friday afternoon off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?_

_I want to hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Holly smiled at the letter and realized how fond she'd already grown of the large, unintentionally impolite man. "Who's that from?" Melody asked, as Hedwig affectionately nipped Holly's ear. Holly dug a pen she'd smuggled into Hogwarts with her out of her bag and wrote out a response to Hagrid while she answered.

"It's from Hagrid," said Holly. "He took me to Diagon Alley a few days after I accepted the invitation to attend here." She glanced up. Hedwig had hopped over to see Oliver, who was offering her bits of his toast. Melody was looking at a copy of the wizards' most popular newspaper, _The Daily Prophet_. "Anything interesting in the news today?"

"Not particularly," said Melody, flipping a page. Holly reached over to tie her response to Hedwig's leg. "The Ministry seems about ready to crack down about the Statue of Secrecy, though."

The Statue of Secrecy, Holly had learned, was the rule that said wizards had to keep their and magic's existence a secret from Muggles. Holly still wasn't entirely sure why this was a law, but she didn't know who to ask about it; Professor McGonagall had likely already had enough of her questions.

Oliver gave Hedwig one final pat on the head before the snowy owl took off again, having been informed of whom she was delivering her letter to. Oliver finished off what toast he had left before pulling his neatly-folded timetable out of his pocket and checking it. "Oh, Merlin," he said. "We've got double Potions with the Slytherins today."

"What have you heard about Potions?" asked Holly. Oliver actively tried to avoid discriminating against other houses, so his complaint couldn't have been about the Slytherins.

"Professor Snape is positively evil," said Melody, setting down her newspaper. She started to pour herself a bowl of cereal. Her expression was quite grim. "He's the head of Slytherin house, and he favors them and hates the rest of us."

Holly frowned. "That's peculiar," she said. "I thought Slytherin was for the cunning and ambitious. Openly detesting a large number of students is probably not the best idea." She thought she remembered multiple times in French history in particular where students riled themselves up and tried to start wars.

Oliver snorted. "Try telling him that," he said, shaking his head. "Wayne Hopkins told me the other day all about how Snape deducted house points for no reason other than him not moving out of the way fast enough."

This was rather depressing, if for no other reason than the fact that Hufflepuff's house points were already quite low in the running. Holly didn't particularly care, though; as far as she could see, winning the house cup only gave the winner bragging rights, and nobody in Hufflepuff cared enough to brag. If there had been an actual prize they might have all tried a bit harder.

Their Potions lesson was down in the cool, drafty dungeons, where the Slytherins' dormitories were. Holly sat beside Oliver while Melody sat with Leanne at the next table over. Everyone chattered for a while, their voices echoing around the dungeon; Holly was neatly setting up her books on the table, while Oliver jokingly harassed Ernie Macmillan, when Draco Malfoy called her out.

"Hey, Potter!" Malfoy hissed across the dungeon. "I see what tie you're wearing! D'you think you can find anything interesting about that?" He and his two cronies—Crabbe and Goyle—snickered.

Holly was unamused. It had only been a week and she already knew that the majority of the school joked about Hufflepuffs only being able to 'find' things, because of their symbol being a badger, and some old lines in the Sorting Hat's song. She glanced over at Malfoy. "Good morning," she answered calmly. "All my tie color tells me is that I am in Hufflepuff. Thank you for reminding me, Draco; I might have forgotten otherwise."

She thought she might have been slightly too sarcastic for politeness to permit, but she did not have to think about it a moment longer, as Professor Snape entered the room. He entered with a billowing of his black robes, and he strode up to the desk at the front of the room, where he suddenly halted and whirled around. He surveyed the students for a moment—then his dark eyes landed on Holly.

She had thought perhaps there would be a repeat of the flash of pain in her scar at the start-of-term banquet. Instead, he only looked at her for a brief moment, and then walked around his desk. He didn't sit down; he picked up his roll sheet and started to call out names. Holly had thought she was in the clear. But Professor Snape paused at her name. "Ah, yes," he drawled softly. "Holly Potter. Our new—celebrity."

Everyone in the room was quiet, waiting with anticipation to see what Snape would say or do next. Instead of adding any commentary, though, Snape finished the roll call, and then began to lecture.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he said. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

He managed to sound both enthusiastic about his subject and completely uninterested all at once. It strongly reminded Holly of Malfoy in Madam Malkin's, all disinterested even with his own conversation. She wasn't sure how she felt about any of this yet, though. Potions sounded intriguing and useful in itself, but she didn't think professors were supposed to insult their students so openly. She thought that might get them reported and fired in the Muggle world.

Professor Snape looked around the room again. Then, quite suddenly, he looked directly at Holly. "Miss Potter," he snapped.

"Yes, sir?" Holly asked.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Holly blinked at him. "I haven't any idea, sir." She thought she might have seen those things mentioned in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, but it was ludicrous to expect her to remember on the first day of class. Besides—she'd only read it because she wanted to; what if Snape had called on a student who hadn't wanted to read, and had no idea at all of what was coming?

Professor Snape sneered slightly. "Tut, tut—clearly fame isn't everything."

Holly glanced at Oliver, who shrugged, and then back to Professor Snape. How senseless, how ridiculous, how _dull_ was this, to pick on the student who had anything other than 'first year' to her name? It occurred to Holly that perhaps he disliked her for what she stood for—the end of the Dark Arts, or the fall of a Dark wizard. Snape certainly looked as though he would fit right into the Dark Arts.

Furthermore, it was utterly trivial of him to expect her to have both known about her own fame and enjoyed it. In fact, she didn't much care for it; it was nice to be able to have some sort of weight when she spoke with people, but it also would have been nice not to be stared at as if she had seven heads. "I wholeheartedly agree, sir," Holly said presently to Professor Snape, trying to remain her politest.

"Well, then, let's try again, Ms. Potter," said Professor Snape. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

That one rang some sort of bell in the back of her mind. "I think it may turn up in the stomach of some medium-sized animal," Holly said. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't quite remember which one."

Professor Snape stared at her. For a second it almost seemed as if he didn't detest the sight of her; then he said, "Thought you'd barely need to open a book before coming, eh, Ms. Potter?"

Holly was indignant. How rude of him to imply she was so dense! She was dying to correct him, but she thought it would be intolerably impolite, and there was no way she would sink to his level. Sadly, he wasn't finished yet; he didn't give her a chance to respond before asking, "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Honestly, sir," said Holly, voice taut, "I haven't any inkling. I was raised in a Muggle household, not a wizarding one, and I personally understand just how far behind I am in my knowledge of the wizarding world; however, I hope to learn more about it soon enough. I do not intend to neglect my studies."

For that was the only mildly reasonable conclusion that Holly could come to: that Professor Snape continued to ask her questions and seemed to dislike her because he assumed she knew next to nothing and had come from a brilliant wizarding household of some sort.

Snape stared at her. Holly looked back innocently. "Fine," he retorted. "The questions may resume if you get anything less than an O on any of my exams. And for your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden scraping of chairs and flurry of movement as the students rushed to write down everything Professor Snape said. Holly wasn't sure if she had just been let off the hook or if she'd just jumped from the frying pan straight into the fire. _Less than an O?_ Holly wondered. What on Earth were the marks around here?

As the class continued, Professor Snape separated all of them into pairs, going by whom they were seated with. He then set them on creating a potion to cure all boils. There were instructions in the textbook as to how to create the potion; however the instructions seemed slightly contradictory, and it made the task altogether impossible.

Professor Snape spent his time swooping about the room like an overgrown bat, quickly turning around corners to stop and stare as a particular student weighed dried nettles or crushed snake fangs. He always, _always_ found something to criticize: the only student he didn't seem to criticize was Draco Malfoy, which Holly found rather odd. Malfoy was trying very hard but the stench coming from his failed potion swept across the room.

The end of the class couldn't come soon enough. When they were all finally released, the students rushed out at once—even the Slytherins. Holly took her time packing up her things, though; she rather thought that if she showed an ounce of fear, Professor Snape would have won this strange battle of wits. She exited at the same time as Draco Malfoy, who was followed closely by his two friends Crabbe and Goyle. As they all stepped into the corridor, Holly noticed Oliver, Melody, and Ernie waiting at the other end of the hall for her; she waved at them and took a step toward them.

"Listen, Holly," said Malfoy, from just behind her. She turned back.

"Yes?" she asked politely.

Malfoy looked somewhat agitated. "I have no idea what set him off on that." He seemed to want to say something else, but wasn't quite sure how.

Holly decided that this was as good an apology for Snape's behavior as she was going to get. "Yes, well," she said, "I'm sorry too, but there is nothing to be done about it. Thank you for your concern, though." She was quite genuine, saying this. "Have a good afternoon, Draco."

With that, Holly turned around and strode away toward her friends. "You too," Malfoy called after her.

Holly soon rejoined her friends. "That was the strangest bloody class I've ever been in," Ernie remarked. "I didn't think professors were allowed to be so judgmental of students that way."

"Should we report it to someone?" Melody asked, looking concerned.

Oliver looked flatly irritated. "I say we should," he said in a low voice, as they all started down the hallway. "If that continues, anyway. It's just not _decent_."

"I heartily agree," said Ernie.

"As do I," Holly finally said. "All I could think was that he must have somehow gotten it into his head that I am a pompous brat who thinks she can coast by without even trying."

Melody snorted. Oliver raised his eyes to the ceiling. "How—what's your word, Holly? —how absurd! You're in Hufflepuff! That means that we all work the hardest of anyone else, including the Ravenclaws!"

"And none of those Slytherins seemed to be trying very hard," said Ernie.

At least the rest of the day was wide open for free time and visiting Hagrid. While Oliver went off with Ernie to explore the outdoors by the lake, Holly invited Melody along to go and meet Hagrid. Around three, Holly and Melody left Oliver and Ernie skipping stones into the lake and wandered over a small stone hut on the edge of the dark forest.

There was a spiral of gray smoke twisting up from the chimney. Melody asked as they drew near, walking across the damp lawn: "What on Earth d'you think is in that forest?"

"I haven't any idea," Holly said. "Maybe unicorns or something."

"Do unicorns exist?" inquired Melody; she was half-blood, but her parents were divorced while her brother lived in another country for school, and she had rather been raised the same way as Holly, knowing only about the Muggle side of the world. However she had known that wizards existed from a rather young age.

"I hope so," Holly replied. "They seem like they'd be very sweet."

Melody hummed in agreement as they reached Hagrid's doorstep. There was a crossbow and a massive pair of rain boots to the right of a worn brown welcome mat. Holly stepped forward and knocked on the door; immediately there was a frantic scrabbling sound, followed by Hagrid exclaiming, "Back, Fang—back!"

Hagrid swung open the door and poked his head out. "Hang on," he said, before disappearing back inside for a moment. "Back, Fang," he repeated. Holly had to assume that Fang was a particularly disobedient dog.

He let them in then, pulling the door open the whole way. He was clutching the collar of a large black boarhound: Fang, presumably.

The inside of the hut was only one room. There were hams and pheasants hanging from exposed rafters that made up part of the ceiling. At the fireplace a copper kettle was boiling. There was a large table with four chairs in one corner of the hut; in the opposite corner, beside the back door, there was a monstrous bed with a patchwork quilt.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid. He released Fang after he closed the door again. Fang immediately bounded over to lick Melody's nose.

"Good afternoon, Hagrid," said Holly. "I've brought my friend Melody Watson with me; I hope that's all right."

"Oh, yeah, of course," said Hagrid, moving to pour the boiling water into a large teapot. He also began to put some cakes onto a plate. Melody and Holly both struggled into the enormously high chairs and started to talk to Hagrid as he set the refreshments on the table.

As it turned out, Hagrid knew Melody's older brother, Stefan. Stefan had attended Hogwarts for four years before moving to Durmstrang. Melody said that she and Stefan wrote each other rather often. He was apparently very good at giving advice.

The rock cakes were difficult to swallow, and made Holly wonder at their quality, or if she would soon need a bezoar; but for the sake of good manners Holly and Melody both pretended to enjoy them.

When Holly told Hagrid the story of how she, Melody, and Oliver Rivers had been caught accidentally trying to break into the third floor corridor, Hagrid let out a booming laugh and affectionately called Mr. Filch "that old git." Holly was secretly glad that someone agreed with her assessment of the caretaker, although she felt rather badly about it; perhaps he'd been having a bad day, or a bad week, or a bad life.

Holly finally asked Hagrid about Professor Snape. "We've just had the strangest and most indecent class of our lives," Melody reported to Hagrid, whom she had quickly warmed up to, particularly at the mention of Stefan. "Double Potions with Professor Snape and half the Slytherins."

"Really?" asked Hagrid. "Indecent? Now, I can see strange, but…"

"Indeed," Holly agreed grimly. "Professor Snape would not stop asking me questions he knew I wouldn't know the answer to at the start of class. I'm fairly certain he detests me, although all I've done is not memorize _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_."

Hagrid looked distinctly uncomfortable. Holly came to the conclusion that he knew something about Professor Snape he didn't want to say. "He really does hate her," said Melody, nodding and taking a sip of her tea.

"Rubbish!" Hagrid declared. "Why should he?"

Then—as if he didn't already look suspicious enough, glancing from side to side and entirely avoiding Holly's gaze—Hagrid turned to Melody and said, "So did you say how yer brother Stefan's doing? He'd be graduatin' soon, wouldn' he?"

While Melody and Hagrid discussed Stefan's good marks and his recent run-in with a hag, Holly took a long sip of her tea and then looked about the hut again. She noticed this time a corner of paper sticking out from under the tea cozy. She carefully slipped it out; it was a cutting from _The Daily Prophet_. It read:

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 30 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

"_But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

How very peculiar! Holly remembered that the 30th of July was the day that she and Hagrid had gone to Gringotts. She pushed the article clipping back under the tea cozy and waited for Melody and Hagrid to finish chortling about Stefan's amusing adventure. When that conversation seemed quite done, Holly burst, "Hagrid! That Gringotts break-in happened the day before my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

Hagrid looked—if it was humanly possible—even more suspicious than he had before. He grunted, as if Holly's declaration was simply a vaguely interesting announcement, and offered Holly another rock cake, which she politely declined.

This was immensely intriguing. Holly felt as though she had just stepped into an old noir film where she was the lead detective. She rather imagined George Weasley as the good-looking helpful secretary. The enemy—the perpetrator of the crime—would either be Professor Snape, whom she quite disliked, or Professor Quirrell, who was so incompetent there had to be something deeply disturbed about him.

Now, it was rather silly to be picturing these things, as neither professors were at all related to the break-in at Gringotts. However Holly liked to think of them that way. Then she would have better reasons to dislike them as much as she did. As it was she felt rather rude.


End file.
